Road to Florida With Apologies to CrosbyHope
by Chellifornia
Summary: Epic tale of the Ducks' journey to to the uncharted unknown of...Florida! Featuring multiple pairings, map crises, Bash Brothers and more.
1. Come Together

Road to Florida (With Apologies to Crosby and Hope)

**Road to Florida (With Apologies to Crosby and Hope)**

A/N: Hey, all! So this is my first brave stab at an MD fic (though my notebook is filled with half-finished thoughts and ideas). I've had this stewing in my mind for awhile, but as of recently I've gone on a writing spree. So I'm just going to put this up, and just hit me up with reviews and tell me what you think!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Ducks. Or Florida, for that matter. And while I'm on the subject, how can you trademark anything in this world? Can't there be a way to make all forms of expression public domain, so that we may all be able to enjoy these things equally? No? Anyone? :long-suffering sigh: Alright, let's get to the fic.

Chapter One: Come Together

**July 2, 1:45 p.m.**

**MCO Airport**

I clutch the handle of my bag. Ugh. Why did I want to come here anyway…?

The pulsing masses of people move around me as I make my way toward the food court. I've seen no fewer than six advertisements for Walt Disney World from my plane to my current position.

I wonder if anyone else has made it yet.

I wonder if _he's _made it yet…

_Stop it, Julie_, I say to myself. _Stop thinking about him…_

A few months ago, our illustrious captain, Charlie Conway, started planning a huge vacation adventure to one of the "foreign" ducks' hometowns. When we doubted our dear captain's ability to cough up the dough to finance this trip, he produced a "vacation jar" we could all contribute to. After ruling out California (Ken's and Russ's home state) for being too far, Chicago (Dean's hometown-- Damn it, Julie, stop thinking about him) for being too inconvenient, Austin, Texas after being promised by Dwayne "lots of cattle ropin' and dog rasslin'", and Maine for being, by my own admission, pretty boring, we chose Luis's home state of Florida for a summer of sunnin' and funnin' (to borrow a quote from one of my favorite books, _Sloppy Firsts_).

As the days went by and the money pooled in (with generous tips from our parents) we had it figured out: I would fly down from Maine to meet up with my aunt Robin, Connie and Guy would fly down from Minneapolis together, Dwayne, Adam, Charlie, and Jesse would fly down from Edina, and Fulton, Portman, Ken, Averman, Goldberg, and Russ got the bright idea to fly to Philly and road-trip down here. God, I can only imagine what that car ride would look like…

Anyway, the point is that we would all be in the same state together, and be within the same vicinity. In theory. I guess no one took into account how far Orlando (where I am) is from Miami (where Luis is). Oh well…

We'll find out when we get here.

After a quick sandwich from Subway, I make my way to the street. As soon as the automatic doors fly open, I'm hit.

Holy SHIT, it's hot here.

I try to clear my befuddled mind amongst the confusion of the street. There are cars and people everywhere. How the hell will I find Aunt Robin?

My eyes quickly fall on a sharply dressed man holding a sign. _Julie Gaffney_, it said.

Oh, of course. My aunt sent her driver.

I hear him call out my name. I wave frantically to get his attention and make my way toward him. He scrutinizes me, as if trying to decide whether I'm lying or not. Satisfied, he opens the door to the limo for me.

Driving down the highway, he calls back to me: "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gaffney. Your aunt showed me a picture of you. You look as darling as you did in the photo." He smirked in the rearview mirror.

I groan inwardly. Any picture Aunt Robin has of me must be at least five years old.

I settle into the seat, enjoying the A/C. It's going to be a long trip.

**July 2, 9:32 p.m.**

**A Highway just outside of Richmond, Virginia**

"Hey, Goldie! Got enough Philly cheesesteak?"

"'Course, man, want some? It's kinda smushed…"

"Wait, which numbers mean north-south and which mean east-west? Jesus, we could be in Norfolk by now--"

"For the love of Mike, stop poking me, Averman!"

"Then move! I'm eating a cheesesteak!"

"Hey driver! Turn around! I think I saw a McDonald's!"

"YOU WALK THROUGH THE WORLD BY YOURSELF, YOU CAN'T BE PROTECTED--"

For chrissakes, will any of them shut up?!

I stare out the window, wanting to bash my head through it. My fellow bash brother and resident psycho Dean Portman is behind the wheel of the Mirthmobile, so named after the vehicle of choice in the classic movie _Wayne's World_. Clamoring in the back of this plain white van (chosen because, of Port's own admission, every plumber on the east coast had one of these, thus easier to drop off the radar just in case something illegal happened. Don't ask me, he got it from a comic book) are our fellow teammates Ken (junior bash brother), Averman, Goldberg, and Russ.

So far, we've been driving all day since Portman, Ken, Averman, Russ and I arrived in Philly to meet up with Goldberg and hit the road to Florida. The "kids" have been fighting in the back as Portman weaves on the road, warbling along to Pantera on the radio.

"You walk through the world by yourself

You can't be protected

Your trust is in whiskey and weed and Black Sabbath

It's goddamn electric--"

"We're off on the road to Flo-ri-da!"

Averman's voice clashes horribly with the radio.

"Wrong song, man," Russ shouts over the noise.

I sigh. It's a miracle we've gotten this far anyway.

The "carpool group" (as we're formally known) were the ones who at first wanted nothing to do with this go-to-Florida thing. It was also geographically (and financially) impossible for any of us to go. But Portman really pushed us into it. I asked him if it had anything to do with a certain young Catlady, and he just shoved his fingers in his ears while humming "Floods" loudly.

Anyway, we're shooting for Orlando by July 8th to meet up with Julie (as per Portman's pointed reasoning). The we would figure something out (whether everybody else would drive up the Orlando, or whether we'd drive down to Miami). I don't know why I even wanted to come. I'm still as pasty white as ever.

Anyway, now we're driving in the dark to god-knows-where in an attempt to meet with Portman's lady love. Groovy.

I look next to me at Portman behind the wheel. He has his window open (I told him not to do that; we're all afraid something freaky will fly in) and headbanging to the song.

I shout "So have you called your girlfriend yet?"

He stops headbanging to look at me; out of the corner of my eye I see the car weave to the left. Gulp.

He shouts back "No. Have you?"

I groan, but I guess I deserve it.

Ever since Portman got wind of the fact that I was once into Tammy Duncan back in the Paleolithic era, he hasn't stopped giving me shit about it. Normally I wouldn't care if he did, if it weren't for the fact that she lived a few blacks from Eden Hall.

And was constantly in the papers for the figure skating medals she's won.

And was still totally hot.

And I still had a tiny crush on her.

Whatever. She's skipped town for the summer. Bermuda, last I heard. Basking in the sun on a beach somewhere while I was stuck in this van speeding down the highway to hell.

Smelling very much like Philly cheesesteak.

I check the time. 9:50 p.m. In a few hours, I'm going to have to take the wheel; Portman's known to doze off in the middle of life-or-death situations.

Ken is still pestering for another food stop.

"C'mon, guys, I'm starving. How 'bout that Taco Bell, next exit?"

He looks like a tragic orphan as the lights pass him by.

"We got all the food we need right here!" Goldie yells to him. In Philadelphia, Goldberg loaded up all the sandwiches his "granny" made him.

"But it's all smushed and gross," Averman complains.

"You guys got a Fatburger out here?" Russ asks.

"A what?" says Goldie.

"Yeah, this engine needs fuel," says Portman from the driver's seat. "If I don't get food soon, I'm gonna pass out."

"You'd pass out with food," Averman points out.

Portman pays no heed to the traffic up ahead. "Keep talking, shrimp, or you're walking to Orlando."

"Jesus, Portman, watch the road!" I squeak. He quickly obeys.

"Well, let's make a vote. Burgers?"

Everybody raises their hand.

"Okay, cool. McDonald's okay?"

"Yes," Ken says, as Russ says "Yuck."

"What about Burger King?"

"Dude, I think everybody here wants, like, a whopper. And I don't think we have enough cash for that."

"And whoppers aren't even that good!" Averman pipes up.

"Fine. Any other takers?"

"I could go for some In-N-Out."

"Russ, they don't even _have_ In-N-Out here."

Everyone in the van looks dejected.

Suddenly, Ken sees a glimmer of hope.

"Hey, there's a Big Boy next exit!"

SCCRREEECH. The tires squeal on the pavement as Portman speeds down the off-ramp.

**July 3, 12:02 p.m.**

**Somewhere in the skies over Illinoi**s

"Adam. Hey, Adam. Adam? ADAM!"

I wake with a start. I have half a mind to re-break my wrist on Dwayne's jaw.

"What?" I say groggily.

"We're flyin' over Illinois now." He looks proud of himself.

I give him my best withering look and he desists.

I'm cramped in this cabin between Jesse and Dwayne an hour into our flight. The battery in my iPod has died, and the only movie they're showing is _Herbie: Fully Loaded_.

Perfect.

As if I'm not uncomfortable enough, I'm right next to Jesse. I don't know why, but I feel weird around him. Don't get me wrong, he's always been nice to me since the Goodwill Games. So far, he's been pretty understanding.

I just feel…

I don't know…

…Guilty.

I mean, I bet any of the ducks could tell you that they would've rather Jesse come to Eden Hall than me. He's been with them since the beginning. And, yeah, he's not a better player than me. But just smoother and cooler than me, and more interesting to be around.

Maybe it's not guilt I'm feeling,

Maybe… jealousy?

Well, maybe it depends on how guilty I feel about him not making it to Eden Hall.

And I do.

…I guess.

I chance a sidelong glance at Charlie and Jesse. They had just had one of their manly heart-to-hearts and now they're swapping stories about the past. I hear the names "Tommy Duncan" and "Peter" thrown around amongst their laughter. I remember them. I remember Peter threatening to throw me into the Coon Rapids by his dad's house. More to feel guilty about.

Peter could've taken any of those varsity guys.

While I'm sitting here feeling inferior, Dwayne's laughing at the screen. He nudges me excitedly.

"That Lindsay Lohan is one sweet gal, ain't she?"

I snort. Yeah, when she's not on drugs.

I stare at the pop star's form for a minute. I know a lot of guys who would think she's hot, but personally, I don't see it.

…Actually, to be perfectly honest, I've _never_ seen it.

Ever.

(With girls, I mean.)

The only girl I've ever had a crush on was Connie Moreau, and that was doomed from the start because of Guy. I remember vividly that one frigid day that Guy cornered me and stuttered his way through a long speech that even though I was a Duck now, I couldn't have Connie because I didn't know here like that. I said of course I couldn't have Connie, there was no way she could be my girlfriend, but I don't think he believed me. And ever since then, I had to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't turn on me.

…And in the locker room at the Goodwill Games, I kept my eye on him a _lot_.

So I guess Guy was the only guy I've ever had a crush on.

I look nervously at my friends around me. I know I'm just paranoid, because it's not like they can hear my thoughts.

Still, I pull my knees to my chin and resent the trip. Even though I was going to this great vacation spot with the people purported to be my friends, I still felt alone.

**July 3, 5:14 p.m.**

**Miami Beach, Florida**

I missed it here like I don't know how.

Ever since I've gotten home, I've been preparing for my friends' arrival. Tonight is the first time I got to stand here and breathe.

The humidity actually feels good on my skin. The heat in Minnesota feels like bogus heat; it doesn't make you feel as good as it does here, which is weird, seeing as it's coming from the same sun.

See, when I was a kid, I loved adventure stories. I loved Indiana Jones like you wouldn't believe, and whenever I tramped through the woods by my cousin's house, I pretended I was in a jungle in the amazon.

So the heat reminds me of being a little kid. I know it's weird, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.

**July 3, 6:35 p.m.**

**Minneapolis, Minnesota**

I giggle as Guy rocks violently on the rockinghorse. With our bags packed and ready at Guy's mom's house, we were frolicking in the park across the pond before we make our way to Florida tomorrow. I glance fondly at the pond that we once annually skated on during the winter.

Guy gets dumped off the horse. I laugh. He glares.

"Alright, little Miss," he growls, sounding exactly like our fourth grade teacher, Mr. Santos. "Won't be laughing so hard when I push you into the moon, huh?"

I shriek as he starts pushing my swing higher and higher.

"Guy, stop! I'm scared of heights!" I shout at him. He obeys.

"Sucker," I say, taking his head in my hands.

"Says you," He says, smiling.

When we kiss, I feel it all the way down to the tips of my toes.

"I can't wait to see the beach," I say dreamily, playing with his hair.

"I can't wait to see your bikini," He says, equally dreamily.

"Pig." I shove him.

"Hey!" He says, sidling away from me, grinning. "At least I said '_your_ bikini' and instead of 'Megan Fox's bikini'."

Another shove.

"I think you can stop with the senseless violence now," He says sourly.

I laugh and pull him back to me. I can never stay mad at him. It wasn't until high school that I realized how hot he was. How the sun peeks through a cloud and lights up the wisps of hair in his eyes and makes his freckles stand out…

We've done everything but.

I get off the swing and hold him close, my fingers in his hair, my hand on his strong chest. Every time I see him, every time we're together, every time I call him up and he answers and a thrill shoots up my spine, I feel ready.

My body has other ideas.

I can't help it.

It's like my body's not listening to my mind (and vice versa). If I want him so bad, why can't I just _be_ with him??

I sigh into his neck.

"I can't wait 'til we get there," he murmurs into my hair. "Just you, me…"

"And the rest of our team," I say, smiling.

He laughs, and catches my mouth with his. Maybe this time, our luck will change. Only time will tell.

A/N: Liked? Hated? R&R please!


	2. Welcome to the Jungle

Road to Florida

**Road to Florida**

**Chapter 2**

A/N: Hello again! Here's my next installment. The saga continues! And I'd like to thank my reviewers! Yay! Here we go…

DISCLAIMER: Right after I win my case against intellectual property, the Ducks are mine. But until then, they're Disney's. I just play with them.

**Chapter 2: Welcome to the Jungle**

**July 3, 8:32 p.m.**

**Kissimmee, Florida**

Hell. I am in Hell.

I've been at Aunt Robin's house for a day and I'm bored out of my skull. See, Robin's pretty loaded, so the house is huge. I wanted to ask her if the carpool group could stay here, but I couldn't just invite my rowdy friends to a place where I'm a guest in. So now I'm stuck here.

Robin's a pretty eccentric lady. I've only seen her a couple times since I got here. When Liam dropped me off, I just sat in the living room with my bags and watched her multitude of googly-eyed cat clocks tick away the time. Robin has _millions_ of weird clocks. Cuckoo clocks, cat clocks, you name it. After an hour of waiting, she finally showed up. She just kinda glanced at me and said "Julie, darling you're a fine girl." Then she told me to remove my shoes and stay off the good furniture. Another butler guy, Lars, showed me to the guest room, where I am now. It's nice, I guess, but quiet.

The only room that has cable is Robin's, all the others blare daytime soaps all day. I have so many questions, but she's hardly ever here (probably out buying clocks) so I'm kind of stuck.

But don't think I'm alone all the time. Oh, no.

Here's the worst part: my cousins.

Aunt Robin has two kids, an older one with kids of her own and another girl. The younger one is only about a year older than me. As you can probably see, we've become best friends.

Not.

The older one is pretty nice, but her kids are terrors. Yesterday when I laid on my bed and stared at the ceiling, I heard them thundering up the stairs with their power rangers and laser guns. When I went out to see what the commotion was, I was hit by a faceful of silly string.

Beautiful.

Their horrible aunt Sarah (my cousin) just came stomping along and laughed as I cleared the gunk of my face.

"You must be that hockey playing charity case," she said, inspecting her nails.

"Hello, cousin Sarah," I had grumbled as I retreated to my room.

And just this morning they were around here again. I heard Sarah talking to her sister through my door.

"You know, it's really too bad," I heard her say. "She's a bit of a frump and her complexion's unfortunate, but what can I say? She's a hockey player."

I wanted to open the door and tell her off, and tell her about how much fun hockey is, and how my hot enforcer boyfriend was coming down to visit me and my complexion was not unfortunate…

…Until I remembered I was supposed to be forgetting about him. Crap.

Screw this madness. I'm getting out my foxiest skirt and letting my hair down. I'm outta here.

**July 4, 10:48 a.m.**

**Raleigh, North Carolina**

Sunlight behind my eyelids wake me up.

I immediately groan at the sour taste in my mouth. God, Ken, what did you eat--?

I look around. I'm surprised I slept at all, seeing how much snoring there is.

After our stop at the Big Boy, Portman drove for about an hour before nodding off. Fulton took the wheel and rescued us from certain death. Somewhere between Halifax and Whitakers, though, we stopped at a gas station, where some very pretty girls were hanging out. After a little sweet talking from Portman (while shoving Averman out of the way to keep him from blabbering too much) the girls produced a couple of cases of beer for us to have fun with.

Yeah.

Fulton refused (of course, he was the driver) while the nine of us squeezed into the back of the sin wagon and had our fun. One of them, Sandra, really liked me. We made out between sips of Bud. It was perfect.

For a while.

After dodging the cops and pit stops, the girls wanted to turn back. Portman tried to convince them that though they _lived_ in Enfield, they _wanted_ to come to Florida with us, but Fulton gave him a pointed look and coughed something that sounded like _Cool-Lee_. Portman shut up after that.

After an argument that turned into a blistering fight leaving Averman with a black eye and Portman with a long battle scar on his cheek, all four ladies stopped off the find the nearest Greyhound station, with Fulton throwing money at them out of the window as we left. We hit Raleigh at 3 a.m. and passed out.

I peruse the map. Hmmm. Maybe if we hit Fayetteville, we could buy some fireworks…

**July 4, 12:24 p.m.**

**Miami Beach, Florida**

A bead of sweat crawls down my cheek. I ignore it, so intense my concentration. I wait for that puck to drop so I can tear off with it. God, it's hot. How can anyone stand to be this hot? No! Gotta focus. Focus on that puck.

The puck drops and I'm off! I have control of it, dodging competitors as I reach my goal. I'm on a breakaway. I reach the height of my physical endurance, My muscles are straining to keep at this speed. I only stop to ready myself. I aim for the goal.

I shoot--

…Only to be blocked by the knees of Luis's little brother, Miguel.

Nooooo….

"Hey, chill out, Captain Duck," Luis laughs as he skates towards me grinning. "We're only playing."

He's right. Right now, it's me, Dwayne, and Jesse against Luis's neighborhood's young finest-- a stout eight-year-old girl casts me a ferociously competitive eye as she calls out "Next round!"

Luis is ref-ing to make sure things stay fair, He doesn't have to worry, though: These little kids are kicking our asses.

God, I need better training in the off-season.

I'm looking at these kids, though, and instead of the carefree nature of our loser team at their age, in their eyes is a steely determination and finesse that could only have been practiced incessantly (Orion would be proud). You could tell each of these kids wanted to follow in Uncle Luis's footsteps-- be the next kid to bring international rep to to this sleepy Florida neighborhood.

Seeing these kids reminds me of Banksie. Speaking of Banks, where _is_ Adam?

Luis claps a hand on my shoulder. "Glad you're here, man," he says warmly, watching Dwayne round up the kiddies with a jump rope. "Glad to be here," I tell him. "You don't know how great it is to be bonding like this-- especially…"

"Especially Jesse," he finishes my sentence, grinning.

"Yeah," I say. "I know it seems like I'm managing every single aspect of the summer, but it's worth it. You're not just my team, you're my friends. And I just want us all to be together."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Together." I watch him look worriedly up at the window where Adam's room was. I try to reassure him.

"He'll come around, he's just feeling a little lonely amid all this brotherliness," I say.

"I hear ya, man," he smiles.

He tosses me the hockey stick. "You up for another round?"

Oh, God.

**July 4, 12:35 p.m.**

**Miami Beach, Florida**

Why did I ever think this was a good idea?

Here I am, crouched all alone in my room at Luis's house and looking like a sadsack out the window. I watch Charlie and Jesse bond with the kids and with each other.

Why can't I be there?

**July 4, 5:29 p.m.**

**The skies over Missouri**

His eyes flutter slightly beneath his lids, his chest heaving with each breath. I giggle as I butterfly kiss his nose, lightly touching the fine hairs on the back of his neck with my fingers. He stirs slightly.

He lets out a snore. I giggle some more.

He wakes, greeting me with that beautiful smile I love to see every day.

You know, it's amazing our parents agreed to let us go together--alone--on this trip. After repeatedly assuring them that we'll be fully chaperoned in Miami by Luis's family, they finally caved.

Suddenly, the overhead lights blink.

"Wha--?" Guy says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A voice fills the cabin.

"_Due to unforeseen turbulence, we will now be making an emergency touchdown in St. Louis. We apologize for the inconvenience."_

My attention has completely shifted from Guy, staring at the speakers in shock. He didn't say what I _think_ he said?

I throw Guy a look. He looks confused back at me. My mind is flooded with thoughts.

Okay.

I admit it.

I tend to worry.

You wouldn't tell from the outside: big, brash, hockey-playing Connie who doesn't have a care in the world. But anyone who knows me well will tell you that inside, I'm a mess. My nails were chewed down to stubs during our final battle with the Hawks. I spent many sleepless nights during the Goodwill Games. I was sick with worry when Charlie and Fulton bailed on us at Eden Hall. I can't help it. I panic. Just like how I'm panicking now. What if we crash?

Guy gives me a reproving look. He knows my worryface. He's still unnerved, though.

I sink into my chair. How are we going to get to Florida?


	3. Long, Hot Summer Night

Road to Florida

**Road to Florida**

**Chapter 3**

A/N: Hello once more to the exciting organ that is my brain! Thanks for all the reviews, and I'm glad that the story (and the carpool group) has received such a nice reception! Incidentally, the carpool group is comprised of my favorite Duck characters, or ones that tend to be overlooked in fic. I have much more in store for them. ;) Also, the chapter titles come from my playlist of songs that remind me of summer. Anyways, here we go again…

**Chapter 3: Long Hot Summer Night**

**July 4, 8:32 p.m.**

**Miami Beach, Florida**

I watch the streams of light swirl overhead before they explode, majestic. The smell of barbecue fills my nostrils as I watch my friends, laughing and whooping and mingling with the kids of my neighborhood. Each figure is armed with a sparkler. Little Esme from across the street takes my hand, a toothless grin splitting her face, and leads me to the very heart of the party, a total sensory overload.

Our neighborhood Fourth of July barbecue is officially underway. It's the American dream. Sweet smells greet my nose as my skin simmers from the heat. Dwayne makes note of my arrival, and a barrage of neighborhood kids come at me, nearly knocking me over. Charlie looks at me, shaking his head and smiling. _Hometown boy,_ he seems to be saying. I'd be lying if I said I didn't agree.

Charlie, with extra help from Jesse, finally coaxed Adam out of hibernation to join the festivities. The kids gaped open-mouthed as they watched the mighty Adam Banks descend from the top of the stairs. My mother remarked that it was the highlight of the kids' lives to play with one of the greats. Now, Edina's finest was quietly sitting in a corner, stirring his lemonade and making small talk with my sister Teresa. He looks a bit uncomfortable.

"Maybe another sparkler will entice the hermit out," a voice calls behind me. I spin around. It's Jesse, coolly leaning against a tree with a Coke in his hand.

"I think so, yeah," I say back, throwing Adam another glance. I'm no psychotherapist, but anyone with eyes could tell there was something going on with him. I just didn't know how to help.

A wrinkle appears in Jesse's forehead, the one show of concern in his usually relaxed face. "There's something going on with him," He says in a low voice, echoing my thoughts. "Our fearless captain can't see it, and no one else knows him well enough to give him a talking-to."

"You know what this means, don't you?" I say, smiling slightly. He sighs resolutely, also smiling.

"It means I gotta play Dr. Phil, yeah."

Suddenly I had another concern. I open my mouth to speak.

"Did you hear from--"

"No," he says sadly.

I was stumped. Where was Connie and Guy? They would have called us by now if they were here. They should have been here by now.

I know I shouldn't sweat it. But it's summertime, and the living's far away from easy.

**July 4, 9:25 p.m.**

**Kissimmee, Florida**

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I sigh as I stare out this be-doilied window.

Maybe I _am_ pathetic, but the blinking lights of the fireworks remind me of Dean (by now, I've given up trying to forget him. Thinking about him is the only thing that keeps me sane). Anyway, here I am, dressed to kill in Robin's guest room. The cousins from Hell are here; I can hear furniture being savaged.

Today, me and Lars ( who's a cool guy behind the driver's cap) explored the Osceola county area, seeing the sights, finally getting a chance to escape this clock-catted psycho ward. Now I'm dressed to the nines so Lars can maybe take me to the nearest Dairy Queen or something. God bless America.

Suddenly, I hear a rap at my door, which swings open.

"Thanks for knocking," I say dully. I duck behind the bed (Aunt Robin is prone to slap if when she hears cheek) and gape at the doorway realizing it's not Robin at all.

Cousin Sarah strolls in like she owns the place, glancing carelessly over my comforts of home. Then, with her gaze fixed on a teddy bear in the corner, she speaks.

"We're going out. Let's go."

My mouth falls open in surprise.

"Wha--"

This time she looks at me, dark eyes shining. She gives me a quick once-over, and starts looking in the mirror, satisfied. I hazard a question.

"Why--"

She heaves an exasperated sigh.

"Look, this doesn't mean we're friends or anything. My mom feels sorry for you and told me to bring you along to the party. Unless you'd rather not go…" Her voice lifts up hopefully.

"No, I want to go," I say quickly, standing up.

"Fine," she says sourly, and she walks out the door with a swish of her hair. I follow her.

**Ten Minutes Later**

I stare up at the stars as twigs crunch beneath my feet. Looking up at the sky and wondering whether Dean is thinking about me too.

"Stop staring like that. You look possessed."

Why, thanks, cuz.

To be fair, I _was_ spacing.

Now we're tramping through the woods, fireworks going off all around us, to Sarah's stupid party with her stupid friends. It's times like these when I can completely zone out, and my mind is a million miles away, and I page back in the calendar…

I can relive crucial games and moments in my life perfectly, crystal-clear, like in a movie or something. My memory's just weird that way. I remember the days when me and my dad would glide over the frozen-over creek by my house, before he died. I remember bundling up in his old Oilers jersey (yes, I am half-canadian, thank you very much) as I faced off against the boys in my neighborhood, the boys who would later become my teammates on the team I would eventually leave behind for the Ducks. I remember my mom's face when I got the phone call before the Goodwill Games. I remember the angry boiling in my stomach when Portman first preened and postured on the ice, shortly after calling me "sweetie." I remember the black arc of the puck over the ice during that final game against Iceland. It's my mind's only escape, memories.

I look unenthusiastically at the scene before me: a smattering of teenagers gabbing by the high traffic areas: beer kegs and truck beds. I feel ridiculously overdressed in my stretchy blue mini and leather jacket when my eyes fall on the other girls in jeans and flip-flops. Sarah is squealing over her friends; air-kisses are distributed. She ignores me for a bit, before wrenching my arm (practically out of its socket) to join her.

"Guys, this is my cousin Julie, the one I told you about," she says, her voice oozing with artificial sweetness. The girls ooh for a bit, sharing discreet glances.

"Hi," I say awkwardly.

"So is it true that you're a hockey player?" one buck-toothed blonde asks.

"Do you have all your teeth?" a striking brunette asks, wrinkling her perfect nose.

"Do you know Charlie Conway? He's sooo hot!" another girl squeals.

I let out a stream of curse words in my head. This is why I don't socialize with girls outside of hockey. Connie and I aren't exactly BFFs (we're totally and completely different) but we have a certain kinship. And that chick Tammy Duncan Fulton has a crush on (I don't know why he hides it, it's common knowledge around these parts) is pretty cool. But girls in general are annoying. I mean, would it kill them to ask me anything about my life other than the guys I play with?

In the real world, I'm nodding politely and answering the last girl's question in the affirmative (that I know Charlie Conway, not that I thought he was hot). Sarah's friends quickly lose interest in me and begin their small talk. My eyes roll back so far I can practically see my brain.

Just then, I hear a deep voice coming from behind me: "Hockey. Cool."

I spin around. He's tall, I have to crane my neck to look at him. He's--guh. Long sandy-blond hair, light brown eyes. A lopsided grin. Pretty cute. Florida does all right. My brain slightly backfires, trying to remember to suck it in and close my mouth. I smile what is hopefully an attractive smile.

He motions with the plastic cup in his hand. "I've seen you on TV. The Mighty Ducks, right? I can't remember what position you played."

A million things flash through my mind: number one, he's cute. Very. Must remember guy-baiting techniques. Number two, I'm flattered he remembered me. And number three, total shock and horror: how can I tell him I had the most unglamorous role on the hockey team? My face falters.

"I…I-I p-played," I stammer, staring at my sandals. Damn my inconvenient bashfulness! "I played goalie," I say finally, giving up.

He looks utterly unfazed; in fact, his smile intensifies. "Tough job. Gotta admire that in a girl."

My heart flips, but soon subsides. Aren't I forgetting someone…?

I suddenly realize he's holding out his hand to me. "Come on. Walk with me."

I tentatively take it, and he leads me away.

Sometime later, my eyes are sliding around in my head like the ice in my cup. The guy (Jake, he told me) had produced a few drinks for me. After making more (oh god) small talk with one of his friends, we were now secluded in a thicket, leaning against a tree.

"So where are you from?" he asks, staring at me.

"Maine, originally. Bangor." I say, looking anywhere but at him. "But now I'm stationed in Minnesota."

"Whoa. How'd you manage that?" He asks.

"Ducks," I say simply.

He smiles a bit. "Got a boyfriend up there?" he asks, a devious grin on his face. I giggle. The rational part of my brain is cursing me.

"Maybe," I singsong. He moves closer to me.

"Is that a 'maybe' as in you like someone," He says, putting his face close, "Or as in, beating them all off with a stick?"

I giggle some more; this is getting so absurd. A lock of his hair is touching my forehead.

"What do you think?" I whisper. Both of us are poised to jump.

Suddenly, I'm scared. I pull away. The absurdity of this situation is freaking me out.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

"Now that you mention it, I _do_ kind of have a guy back home," I babble. I should never drink. It loosens my tongue. "Well, not back home, I mean, he's coming down to see me, all of them are, the Ducks I mean…" I stop to cough into my arm. I wonder if some part of my brain is trying to scare him away on purpose. I sigh and rub my arms, looking up at the sky. I guess it's possible to feel chilly in this perfect Florida weather. "I liked him, but he isn't into me."

"His loss," Jake says bluntly. He takes me in his arms. "You're hot, and he's an idiot."

"I know, but it's just so _hard_," I say into his chest. I feel sad now. Why would I give up Dean for this guy? I feel like I'm cheating on him. I have nothing to cheat for!

It's funny. Dean hasn't crossed my mind once this whole time with Jake. But now I'm crying out for him. Why?

I force myself to look into Jake's eyes. But all I see is Dean.

I raise my drink up and pound it, gulping impressively. _Fuck it_. I boldly wrench Jake's out of his hand and gulp it down too.

"What say we get back at him?" I say, and this time I dive in. He kisses me back eagerly, like my lips were made out of starbursts or something.

I'm trying to enjoy it, but I'm split three different ways: one way, I'm trying to enjoy the sensations of Jake making out with me, one way I'm feeling the pain of the knotted tree in my back, and another way I'm in Eden Hall, laughing with my friends, never taking my eyes off Dean…

And in that moment, I realize that it was nice kissing Jake with one of his hands in my hair and the other one up my shirt and all, but to put it honestly, I had somewhere to be.

I hear somewhere's off, I take this as my opportunity to take off under the pretense of being called. I mumble a quick "I'm sorry" to the warm body next to me and stumble my way off to find Sarah. I find here sometime later, glaring daggers at me: I numbly realize that she must have taken a shine to Jake. She whispers sharply in my ear; I just want to go home. Finally, I've had enough. I shut her up by walking away mutely, but determinedly, sidestepping various party litter, preparing to ride the bus back to Aunt Robin as fireworks crackle overhead. I knew exactly what I had to do.

**July 4, 11:45 p.m.**

**Miami Airport**

Even at night, this airport bustles with activity. I throw a worried glance at Guy, who's chattering urgently into his cell phone. Finally, hours later, we've made it to Miami. Somehow it's not the dream I imagined it to be.

After being delayed in St. Louis for what seemed like forever, we finally boarded our plane to get here. We've hurriedly searched to and fro here, trying to get a hold of our friends, to no avail.

Here we are, stuck, jet lagged, and stupid.

At times like these, I tell myself: Connie, don't panic. Just chill. You are sixteen years old. This isn't the first time you've flown alone, and this isn't the first time you've been caught in a crisis. Just. Relax.

And another, bigger part of me is saying, okay, I'm trapped in a foreign city in the middle of the night and you're telling me not to PANIC?

Get. A. Grip.

Guy walks to me, scratching his head. We finally hunted don our luggage (thank god they weren't lost". He heaves a resolute sigh. "Can't reach Charlie," he says, rubbing his eyebrows. "Or Adam. Or Jesse. And Dwayne doesn't even _have_ a cell phone. And it would just be rude to call Luis's house at this hour."

I agree.

"So what do you suppose we do?" I say, sitting down defeated. He flops down next to me, not meeting my eyes.

"Well, at this point, we have one option…" He hesitates. Then he looks at me. "…Check into a hotel for the night."

I gape at him.

"What?"

He seems nervous now. He peruses a brochure of Florida, perhaps to keep his hands busy. "I'm just saying, we could probably rent a room for the night and call Luis in the morning."

I finger my lip thoughtfully. This was definitely not in the plan. However, we were running out of options.

"Okay," I say reluctantly, sliding my hand into his. "Where do we do that's cheap and close?"

After hailing a cab and looking for directions, we found a dingy Motel 6, the only place in our price range. Guy leads the way into the lobby, where an emaciated, chain-smoking female concierge looks at us.

"One room, please," he says boldly, a suitcase in one hand and my hand in the other. I snuggle into him. My brave trooper, taking the initiative!

"Would you like a suite?"

"No, a regular."

The concierge flips through a notebook, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. Then she looks Guy dead in the eye.

"Only room we have tonight has one queen bed," she says, voice in a monotone. "That okay?"

"That's okay," Guys agrees. I look at him, shocked. _What_ did he just agree to? I look back at the concierge, then back at Guy, a flush rising in my cheeks. Concierge lady raises an eyebrow at my boyfriend. He's blushing slightly, but still has blank features. She caves and puts us down, handing him a key. Guy drags my by the hand and makes his way to the elevators.

"Home sweet home," Guy chuckles as we swing open the door. I wrinkle my nose; we'd booked a smoker's room. Guy sets down his stuff and bounces on the bed a little. I put mine down tentatively. We stare at each other, and for a moment there's nothing but long, excruciating silence. Then, he says awkwardly, "So, uh… good night?"

I giggle a bit. God, this is so awkward. I cross over to the bathroom to change into my pajamas.

Later, Guy and I stare at each other, separated by a vast expanse of covers and bed sheets. He smiles lopsidedly and scratches his head. I smile too, unsure. Both of us are waiting for the other one to lie down first. I've imagined this moment, many times, the first time I lay down with my boyfriend in an intimate setting. But, for the second time today, things aren't going the way I imagined. For one wild moment I contemplate sleeping on the floor. _Wait,_ I tell myself, my hands balling into fists at my side. _What am I being so ridiculous for? He's my boyfriend. It's GUY. Same old lovable Guy you've loved and trusted since the sandbox. Dammit, I have the right to be close to my boyfriend!_

I take the plunge and lay down first, I smile welcomingly at him. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. He looks away. "I, um, could sleep on the floor of you want," He says, blushing deeply. He takes a couple steps back.

"Wait!" I call to him. I pat the space next to me. He looks like he's working something out in his head. I guess he figured something out, because he walks over lays down next to me, smiling. He grabs my hand under the covers, I giggle to break the ice. I roll over away from him when a wild thought comes to my mind: What would I have done if Guy and I were ten? I picture a massive pillow fort between us and I giggle again. He puts an arm over me and gives my waist a squeeze. Oh, god. I roll over to face him. He's so beautiful. I've been with this boy for more than half my life. Why _wouldn't_ I want to be with him?

I always thought the two of us were a modern-day fairytale. Our first kiss during our game against the Hawks felt comparable to Snow White's kiss from the Prince, or Eric and Ariel's kiss on the beach when she earned her legs, or Philip's and Aurora's final dance before the segue to credits. Accompanied by a great, orchestral swell of music, a choir of angels singing out, not a dry eye in the house sort of thing. And, stupidly, up until this point I always wondered what happened behind closed door for those princesses. What it was like when Phillip joined Aurora in her bed. How Belle saw the Beast in a new way. How Ariel tested out her legs for the first time (and now that I've thought that, I feel slightly dirty). I always imagined it to be gentle and totally romantic. Now, just now, has the enormity of the situation has set in. The reality of it all.

I kiss Guy, throwing a leg over him. Now we're entangled, flesh to flesh. His hands are doing their familiar dance again. Uh-oh. This is usually when my brain comes in. And sure enough…

"Stop, Guy," I whisper, pulling away. He immediately stops; he must have been as scared as I am.

"You're right," he breathes, kissing my shoulder. He sidles away to the end of the bed. I stop him, and put his hand against my stomach, telling him it's all right. Our bodies are pulled together in a way that's finally comfortable. We stay that way until I drift off to sleep, as the last lingering fireworks sound outside.


	4. Moonlight Mile

Road to Florida

**Road to Florida**

**Chapter 4**

A/N: Greetings! Sorry this update is a little late, I write each chapter in my notebook and this bit **really** needed a rewrite. :P Oh, and anyone who lives in Charleston or any of the other places I mention, I'm sorry if I take creative license for your city. I'm from California, it's what I do. Thanks for all the reviews, they really keep me going! Now, the saga continues…

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Mighty Ducks. Or the Rolling Stones. Or any other copyrighted stuff I mention.

**Chapter 4: Moonlight Mile**

**July 5, 2:45 p.m.**

**Charleston, South Carolina**

"…And if we keep going at this pace, we could hit Brunswick in about four hours. We could chill there. Or, we could keep going and, nature permitting, we could get to Jacksonville, it's lucky it's been so mild and I remembered that thing Paul said about black vehicles in hot places; anyway, what's in Jacksonville? Remind me next time we pass an internet café…"

Eye. Roll. Fult, I love you in a completely hetero way, but you gotta chill.

Our trusty carpool group is now speeding down a highway in Charles-freaking-ton in South Carolina. Already it seems that a case of cabin fever has struck our passengers. The boys in the back are deceptively silent when Fulton finishes yammering. But then:

"_Let's name the zones, the zones, the zones, let's name the zones of the open sea_!" Averman begins to sing. Oh, god.

"_Can you hear the drums, Fernando?_

_I remember long ago another starry night like this--"_ Russ chimes in.

"_I see a little silhouette of a man, Scaramouch! Scaramouch! Will you do the fandango?" _Ken intones.

"_When life seems jolly rotten, there's something you've forgotten, and that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing--" _Goldberg trills.

Now, the boys have each picked a song and are now singing them, at the top of their lungs.

What the fucking hell is wrong with them? What part of "don't be annoying, or I'll drive off into the ocean when I find it" do they not understand?

I'm so pissed that, just for the hell of it, I scream out "Ace of Spades" by Motorhead at the top of _my_ lungs.

"_If you like to gamble, I tell you I'm your man_

_You win some, lose some, It's all the same to me!_

_The pleasure is to play, it makes no difference what you say!_

_I don't share your greed, the only card I need is_

_The ace of spades!_

_The ace of spades!"_

"PULL OVER!" Fulton bellows.

Screech to a halt. All voices are silenced.

I'm actually really scared of Fulton right now. He has this scary, deceptively calm look on his face right now, like a venus flytrap looks like a lovely household plant before it traps, devours, and slowly digests its prey. He sucks a few breaths in through his nose and slowly speaks.

"Get. Out. Of. The. Driver's. Seat."

I quickly obey. A few minutes later, Fulton's in the driver's seat, I'm riding shotgun.

"Listen up," Fulton says, dangerously calm and wielding the steering wheel like a man possessed. "We're taking a silent drive to Florida. No if's, and's, or but's…"

I wince. When he really wants to, Fulton can sound like my mother.

"But I'm _bored_," Averman whines. Bad idea.

"Oh?" Fulton gets this crazed look on his face. Everyone flattens against a side of the car, not wanting to be hit by Averman's flying entrails. "I'll find something to entertain you."

**Ten Minutes Later**

"C'mon, guys! I was just kidding! Wait up!"

Fulton just howls out of the window. Everyone in the car is dead silent, I almost bust a nut trying not to laugh. Fulton sticks his head out of the window.

"Come on, Aves, lighten up! We're just playin' yo-yo!" He cackles as he guns the engine. Everyone watches with glee as Averman's red-haired form shrinks and grows in the rearview mirror with every gun of the engine. Fulton was the string, Averman was the yo-yo. Everytime Averman got close, Fulton would speed away.

Fulton's laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes. He's fucking twisted. There are tears in Averman's eyes, but a different kind.

"Um, Fulton?" Ken asks, peering out of the window. "Here comes the exit."

"Yeah," Fulton agrees, wiping his eyes. "Yeah, I guess that's enough for today."

He finally slows down. Averman climbs in eagerly, huffing and puffing.

"Come on, guys," Fulton sings out, driving off the freeway, "Let's take in Charleston."

Later, I'm blasting my iPod, scaring seagulls off the beach. The boys are whooping and hollering off the pier and splashing around in the waves. A game of chicken commences. Fulton emerges from the surf to me, looking very much like a pale, grungy mermaid. We share a fist bump.

"Glad to see you've let your hair down," I remark.

"Shut up," He retorts.

"So, what's up with the about-face?" I say to him, drawing lines in the sand with my foot. "I don't know," He sighs. "I'm investing my whole summer to this, I guess I better just run with it. And anything's better than being at home."

"True," I agree. "However, you still have Tammy."

"I never had Tammy," He says bitterly. "She can't see a good thing with all those triple axles and salchows she does."

"She will…"

"And what about _your_ lady?" Fulton asks suddenly. I measure my words carefully.

"Jules is a cool girl…"

"But…?"

I stare at my feet, stalling for time.

"But, we both know what _my_ type is, and me and Julie would never work out?" Damn. I didn't mean for my voice to go up at the end of that lie.

"Wake up, Portman," Fulton says exasperatedly. "You obviously like her. And she likes you too, but how long do you expect to keep jerking her before she stops liking you? What's your problem? Don't you like her enough to give her that?"

"Okay, okay," I say, backing away in defeat. To tell the truth, I don't know _what_ my problem is. I always thought things were understood between me and Jules, you know? I mean, couldn't she tell I liked her by the way I'm almost going broke paying for gas money driving down the east coast just to see her? I guess some people need it spelled out for them. I just don't know _how_.

I just don't want to screw things up and make her hate me.

Every moment of this trip (except for that momentary lapse of judgment back in North Carolina) I've been thinking _For Julie, For Julie_. As sure as anything. But when I finally see her, I won't know what to say.

My shrink tells me I'm not too open with my feelings.

Fulton's summoning the boys; time to get back to the van. It's dinnertime.

We masticate in a Chik-Fil-A at the local shopping mall, this cool open-air place like those places where Greeks would go shopping. An apiary, or something. Ken and Fulton go to look at skateboards, Goldberg's trying to chat up the chick behind the counter at Foot Locker, Averman's staring starry-eyed at a window display for the Disney store. Me? I'm exploring, taking in everything so I can report it back to Julie perfectly. They come in handy, memories. My only escape.

Fulton's entrusted me with the group's funds: bad idea. Looking at the smiling, happy couples shopping around me induces me to decide to buy Jules a gift. Nothing too fancy; we're not getting married or anything, just something she'd like and get the message across.

I veto clothes (like Julie would ever tell me her size) and food (aren't girls always on a diet?), so I window-shop some more. After tearing myself away from SportsChalet ( need some new gloves), I come across this girly-looking store. It has those creepy headless mannequins in the front, modeling clothes. There are a lot of women in there, so I guess this is a good place to start.

The reactions from the other customers is immediate. Mothers cower and whisper things to their daughters as I cut a large swathe through the crowd. There's a pink explosion in here. I can picture Julie wearing pink. It's not a happy picture.

I look at the merch for awhile, nixing everything too ridiculous, until my eyes fall on something unexpected.

Amidst all the pinks, purples, and reds is a simple necklace on a chain. The stones are a stormy, grayish blue, uncharacteristic for the perky merchandise surrounding it. The color reminds me of the Atlantic ocean. No, even better: I smile fondly as a memory comes to mind…

"_Hey, Catlady! Psst, Jules!" She looks up at me, exasperated. It's a warm sunny day in the park by the girls' dorms. Julie's spread out on a blanket, doing her homework. I'm up in a tree looking down at her, trying to get her attention. She blinks up at me, infuriated._

"_What?" She hisses._

"_What color are your eyes?" I say, sweetly. "I need it for my color pigmentation project."_

"_Gray," she says, looking back down at her work. I grin._

"_Huh, that's funny, Cat…" I say, jumping down next to her. She doesn't even flinch. "Just this morning when I asked you during Chem, you said they were blue."_

"_And so I did," she says, not looking up._

"_There's only one way to know for sure," I say. Without warning, I kick close her book. Pissed, she stands up, face aflame._

"_What the hell is your _problem?_" She says, anger in her eyes. Her stormy, grayish blue eyes…_

"_Gotta go," I say brightly. I skip off, but not before I tweak her nose. Even down the path, I can still hear her scream of frustration…_

Ah, those were the days. I look fondly at the trinket in my hand. I guess they were right about the eyes being the window to the soul. I look at these stones and see every pissed-off, sassy, steely, sad, happy, determined, sarcastic, and confused look she has ever shown. And it's just perfect that this gem stands out so much. That's what I love about Julie. I love her. I really do. She doesn't think like the other girls do. She's so sarcastic and witty and neurotic and smartass-y and _real_ that I can't get enough of her. If only she knew.

And, strolling down that aisle, I found the perfect supplement to my gift.

Coca-Cola-flavored lip gloss.

I laughed out loud at the sight of it, amazed. The hell? And I knew I just had to get it. This is just the kind of thing Julie would appreciate, just so we can laugh about it later. Hell, I'd even wear it if it would make her laugh. I eagerly skip to the cash register and ring my treasures up.

Later, me and the guys stare up at the marvel in front of us, amazed. None of us could tear our eyes away from it.

"Oh my freakin' GOSH," breathes Averman.

"Whoa," Fulton says, very Keanu-like.

It was a massive FAO Schwarz.

We quickly split into teams. Alpha team (Goldberg, Russ, and Ken) takes the ground floor, while Beta team (me, Fulton, and Averman) took the second floor. Already I can see disaster in the making when Averman knocks over an elaborate K-Nex structure. I remember the money I got from playing in the Goodwill Games went completely to this place. I bought enough legos to build a second house.

Beta team goes their separate ways and I am spiritually guided to the giant keyboard. Two things to confess: one, I love the movie _Big_ (especially the piano scene) and two, I've taken four years of piano lessons. I'm practically a virtuoso now.

In a fit of aggression, I stomp out "Chopsticks". I grin as Fulton catches my eye and bangs out the dueling banjoes from _Deliverance_ (that came on Cinemax once, scared the shit out of me, honestly). This is officially the greatest bit of technology mankind has ever created.

We suddenly duel; me tapping out Oh Susannah, Fulton doing "Mary Had a Little Lamb." A crowd begins to gather. I guess we were a sight: two burly hockey-players having a freaking _ball_ over this thing. Suddenly Averman joins in, singing along and doing the robot. Kids watch in glee as the keys light up under his moonwalking feet. I do the beginning of "Scales and Arpeggios," a song from this dorky cat movie I'm embarrassed to say I watched. Of course, Averman (being a fountain of Disney lore) sings along:

_Every truly cultured music student knows,_

_You must learn your scales and your arpeggios._

_Bring the music ringing from your chest and not your nose,_

_When you sing your scales and your arpeggios!_

I watch the kids gawk at my fancy feet. Suddenly, the rest of the alpha team joins us, each jumping on the keys or singing. Then, the loudest voice of all emanates from Goldberg, riding up on one of those little firetrucks. He opens his mouth to sing:

_Do mi sol do do sol mi do_

_Do mi sol do do sol mi do_

_Though at first it seems at though it doesn't show_

_Like a tree, ability will bloom and grow_

_If you're smart, you'll learn by heart_

_What every artist knows:_

_You must sing your scales,_

_And your arpeeeeeegios!_

It climaxes when Goldberg rides up onto the keys. We jump and scream and dance, horrifying onlookers and making an awful, wonderful din all the while.

**Fifteen Minutes Later**

After being escorted out by security, we're now heading into ESPN Zone completely riled up. We're recognized as we hit the doors. After all, we're the famous Mighty Ducks. The boys crowd around the bar, entranced by the TV. Russ and Ken are both all about the Dodgers; Fulton's all about the Twins. I snort. Please, it's all about the Cubs.

I get the feeling I'm being watched. I turn around: I am, by this skinny, pale, dark-haired chick, kinda reminds me of Connie, only paler and with more makeup. She kinda sidles up to me and, yes, I confess, she look her up and down: black tank top. Tight jeans. The works.

"Dean Portman," she says in her husky voice. She must have been at least nineteen. "I watched you all through the Goodwill Games. I had the hugest crush on you, hope you don't mind."

I politely give her my "winning smile." Normally I'd be all over her, but I can't help noticing how she's pretty much the anti-Julie: tall, skinny, pale, and dark, like Snow White, only dirtier.

I check out her shirt: Those famous Rolling Stones lips. The Stones are Julie's favorite band. While my libido tries shut my brain up, I glance at the TV screen. Hmm. Dodgers in the lead. My stomach growls. I wonder if they sell burgers here? Then I look back at her. She puts her hand on my arm.

"I'm a big fan of yours," She says, smiling widely. I give her a toothy grin and ask "So which one of my plays was your favorite?"

Frozen goes the face. Bingo.

She laughs to hide how flustered she was. Even her laugh was weird, too high and tinny. Julie doesn't laugh often, but when she does, it comes out of her belly, and her face is usually goes all over the place, like a chipmunk (she'd kill me if I described her like that to her face). You can tell she's truly amused when she laughs.

She kinda swings my arm around; I hate that.

"I thought you were so hot back then. My brothers were only into all that boring sports stuff, but I only liked you."

There were so many things wrong with this statement: #1, Hockey? Boring?, #2, I hate when girls are only into sports because of a) hot guys or b) their brother or best guy friends are into it and they want to show off, and #3, if I was talking to Julie right now, she'd put my sports knowledge to shame, and would totally one-up me in sports strategies in the most brutal, soulkilling, succinct way.

Then it hits me: is this how it's gonna be for the rest of my life? Am I gonna compare every girl I meet to Julie Gaffney?

I look back at anti-Julie. She's signaling to her friends at the bar, and you don't have to be a mindreader to know that she was going _I'm with Dean Portman!_

To be polite, I ask her name. She smiles widely and says, "I'm Jilly."

Okay. This is just ridiculous.

She's bold enough to ask if I have a girlfriend.

I say "Maybe," and wriggle out of her grasp. Screw hamburgers. I got a steak waiting for me in Orlando.

I signal to the guys; time to hit the road.

Back in the van, I check the time: 7:45 p.m. Time really flew.

"Let's put on some tunes," Averman announces.

"What do you want?" Fulton queries from behind the wheel.

"Finding Nemo: The Musical," Averman suggests.

"It's a big, blue world!" Ken sings.

"NO," Fulton says resolutely.

"Biggie," says Russ.

"Tupac," says Goldberg.

"Biggie."

"Tupac."

"Biggie."

"Tupac."

"BIGGIE!"

"TUPAC!"

"Enough! What is this, the Krips vs. the Bloods?" Fulton shouts. Now a verbal brawl is breaking out, Fulton screaming with his eyes fixed to the road. As calmly and serenely as a hindu cow, I pop the Stone's _Sticky Fingers_ into the CD player. I skip a few tracks before I hit an old, familiar favorite. Everyone shuts up.

_When the wind blows,_

_And the rain feels cold_

_With a head full of snow_

_With a head full of snow._

_In the window, there's a face you know_

_Don't the nights pass slow_

_Don't the nights pass slow…_

_The sound of strangers sending nothin' to my mind,_

_Just another mad, mad day on the road_

_I am just livin' to be lyin' by your side,_

_But I'm just another moonlight mile on down the road._

Everyone's entranced by the song. I smile as the road ahead opens to me with the moon shining overhead. We're riding down a moonlight mile, and I can't wait to see who's ahead.

_I'm hidin', baby, and I'm dreamin',_

_I'm ridin' down your moonlight mile…_

**July 5, 8:05 p.m.**

**Miami Beach, Florida**

Hmmm. Difficult indeed.

Eight words across. Another way of saying "strange", or "odd".

In a second, I'm going to just jot down "weird" and black out the blank spaces. You don't suppose they just want "an" answer, and not "the" answer?

In case it hasn't already been gathered, I'm now playing a rousing game of crossword against myself. Luis, Charlie, Dwayne, and the others have gone off to take the kids somewhere sports-related; Connie and Guy are mooning about in a bush somewhere in that romantic way. Their flight was delayed, so when Luis's mom Juana picked them up, they were staying in a hotel room. I am very curious as to what exactly they were getting up to there…

So far, I've helped Juana with the cooking and cleaning, re-cleaned my room in the process, played my gameboy, and demonstrated the Corpse pose on my bed, staring at the ceiling (I am so awesome at yoga). The guys have been out all day. I cast a dreary eye out the window. To my disgust, the lights of the city match up perfectly with the stars in such a way that I just _know_ God and the city of Miami are mocking me.

Suddenly, I hear a knock at the door. The only visitor I get during my day is Charlie pestering me to come out and be their waterboy or something.

"Charlie, for the last time, I'm not feeling well, so don't--" I start to say.

"Banksie, I know that would fly with Spazway, but it sure as shit won't with me." I gape at the door. It's Jesse. I cast a resentful eye at him. He's wearing a Minnesota Twins jersey, and there are faint bits of sweat clinging to his forehead. Damn him for being so cool and collected. Damn my inferiority complex.

"Come on outside," he commands. He scans my immaculate room. "It's for your own good."

"You can't tell me what to do," I say shakily, rising from the bed. I had to find a way to make him get out of here before I do something crazy, like yell at him or hit him or, even worse, cry.

He laughs, maddeningly. "Banks, you and I know there's no way I could do that."

I falter for a second. Maybe it's my imagination, but his relaxed demeanor lessens the tension somewhat.

He crosses the room and sits on the other side of the bed, across from me. "I remember the first time I joined D-5," he says wistfully. "I'd just moved in with my brother from Stillwater. Back then, D-5 was Charlie, Connie, Guy, Peter, and Karp. I remember Peter threatened to knock me on my ass."

I smile, against my better judgment. That's Peter for you.

"We played together, and became friends, even though our team was a bunch of losers, as you could probably attest to. I remember when you joined us."

My fists ball up at the memory. Jesse keeps talking.

"Everyone was mad, but no one was as mad as me. I was completely furious, to tell the truth. I know it's irrational, but I thought you were gonna replace me. My dad wanted me and Terry off the team, and hockey was the only thing that tethered me to my friends. You see, I didn't even _like_ Spazway in the beginning, just too do-gooder. But it was our mutual hockey skills that bonded us. I didn't even hate you as a person, Banksie. But I knew you would have more access to my friends, and I hated you for it."

I'm silent. This is the most Jesse has ever spoken to me. But he wasn't finished. "But in the end, it didn't matter. They still stuck with me. And then we trusted you. We saw you practically get addled in that game--we saw ourselves in you. We're pretty trusting guys, to be perfectly honest. And, you know, it's pretty much agreed that it was no coincidence that the Ducks really came together only after you showed up."

To say my heart lifted would be an understatement. I look at him. His confident smile never wavered. Then, he stood up. "And I know you _think_ you want to stay here, playing sudoku by yourself…"

He stretches his arms over his head "…You _know_ you want to be outside playing a night game of baseball with us."

He started for the door, holding his hand out to me, grinning. "Sometimes I just know things."

I get up to follow him outside. The cinderblock in my stomach lessens slightly.

**July 5, 8:35 p.m.**

**Miami Beach, Florida**

Guy holds my hand loosely as he cheers on our team. It's Guy, me, Dwayne, Miguel, Teresa, and Esme against Luis, Charlie, Jesse, Adam, Lupe, and Cristina in the sandlot by Luis's house. Many of the Ducks are double- and triple-threats (I'm pretty good at tennis, and the football players who tried to woo Fulton when we were kids still follow him around now), so we're all fair shakes at America's favorite pastime. Sand flies as Esme tears for second base.

He kisses me on the cheek. All day we've neglected our teammates by going off with each other. Florida is the perfect place for romance, even though I'm rooming with Luis's sister Teresa (phew).

I watch Adam tag Esme out. His team cheers him on and… Could it be? Is that an actual _smile_ on Adam Banks' face?

I'm thrilled he's finally come out of his room. We've all been so worried about him. But Guy was right. Jesse is the only one who can really talk to him. Whatever Jesse had to say, Adam really needed to hear it from him, and only him.

Guy puts his hands around my waist and kisses my neck. He is so good to me. Maybe all Adam needs is a little love.

**July 5, 9:05 p.m.**

**Kissimmee, Florida**

"_All you need is love…"_

I bite my nails to nubs as I prepare to dial the phone. Robin's out, Lars is blaring Beatles records on her ancient Hi-Fi. In a second I'm going down to request the Rolling Stones. They're my favorite band in the world.

I give in and punch in the numbers. The dial tone echoes in my ear. After a few rings, I hear a familiar voice.

"_Hey, this is Dean Portman. If this is my mom, I'm innocent until proven guilty. If this is Nora, I told your crazy ass not to call this number ever again. If this is Fulton, check the closet, then under the bed. Everybody else leave a message…"_

I sigh to gain my composure, and then speak.

"Hey, Dean, it's me. Julie, I mean. Just calling to see if you're okay. Not that I'm worried or anything. Just making sure Averman hasn't killed you, or vice versa. And, um, I also called to talk. Later, I mean. I just thought you and I should talk. You know, like we used to. Just call me back, okay? Then we'll talk. Please."

I hung up. I added the "please" as an afterthought, to let him know I was serious. There. I made the first move, even though leaving a message seems cowardly. Whatever, I've thrown away every ounce of my pride for this guy anyway. All he has to do is make the next move.

There's no denying it anymore. I can't hide from it. I called Connie today, she was all gushy and happy and in love. I don't know what that boy's done to her, but I'd like to know what. Still, I envy her. I even envy their vicious fights. At least Connie's never alone.

So, I left the message. So I could get un-lonely. All I can do is hope, and wait. And I'll be waiting here for him.

"_All you need is love,_

_All you need is love,_

_All you need is love, love,_

_Love is all you need."_


	5. I Can See For Miles

Road to Florida: Chapter Five

**Road to Florida: Chapter Five**

A/N: Howdy Folks! Sorry for the LOOOONG delay, just busy with school and this chapter was abnormally difficult to write. That's why I've split up this chapter into two parts, (since each chapter takes place in the space of a day) so the rest of this day will be completed in the next chapter. Anyways, thanks for reading and please review!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Mighty Ducks, Brunswick, GA, Prince, the Who, any of the DC superheroes, or any of the other pop culture references I make.

**Chapter 5: I Can See For Miles**

**July 6, 10:20 a.m.**

**A highway outside Brunswick, GA**

_I know you've deceived me, now here's a surprise,_

_I know that you have, 'cause there's magic in my eyes…_

Every voice in the van singing along heightens in joy.

_I can see for miles,_

_And miles,_

_And miles,_

_And miles,_

_And miles!_

I whoop along with the rest of them. I love the Who.

We're cruising down the highway, spirits lifted. The boys cheer every time we see a palm tree. Now, I'm not usually a morning person, but seeing those blue skies and feeling the sun on my left arm, it's right out of a Disney movie!

I look at Portman sitting next to me in the passenger seat. He looks happy (it's hard not to be), but quiet. He's been weird and introspective ever since last night.

Averman's voice matches up with Roger Daltrey. Ken feigns a deep baritone. Everybody's in good spirits.

"Let's go to breakfast!" Goldie announces. Murmurs of agreement fill the van. I smile at them in the rearview mirror.

"Okay."

Later, we're parked outside a greasy spoon off the beaten path. We storm through the van doors, feeling like a teenaged version of the A-Team. Russ (Mr. T) flags down a booth; Ken, Goldie and I go to the bathrooms (Portman insisted I went along; last time they went into a bathroom unchaperoned, they flooded a toilet in a Burger three towns back).

After we exited the lavatory without drowning, we each ordered a huge, meaty breakfast complete with eggs, bacon, ham, sausage, and pancakes. Everyone's dipping and tasting each other's meals, Averman's making sculptures out of eggs and bacon. After Goldberg upends a saltshaker into my pancakes, I decide to get some fresh air.

I go outside to breathe. It's weird, but it smells good here. I see all the cars driving by on the highway, and I pity them for missing this great sight.

"It's beautiful."

I turn to the source of the noise. There's a man sitting on a lawn chair against the wall. He's quite old, seventy or so, balding and slight with gray stubble. He's wearing an Indian buckskin and carving something in his hands. He seems like an interesting guy.

"Yeah," I agree.

He looks back at his work.

"Don't pity them, kid."

I stare at him. How did he know?

He chuckles, as if he heard my answer in my head.

"You think you're the first the hit this shantytown and come to the same conclusion? I've seen 'em all. Mostly desperate men. But sometimes vengeful women, wronged by their men. And every once in a while, a kid. Like you."

I walk closer to him, intrigued. He gives me a leathery smile.

"So, what brings you here?"

I gesture to the boys in the diner. "Road trip."

"I could've guessed. Where to?"

"Florida."

"Ah, Florida." He shifts in his seat, still smiling. "Nice place. Blue skies. Hot beaches. Palm trees. You'll love it there."

I chuckle a little. "I don't think so."

"Oh?"

I lean against the wall next to him. "I don't know. I guess it's just because it's better than being home?"

He's silent, but then speaks.

"You familiar with comic books, kid?"

I stare at him, pretty confused. How out of left field was that? I like certain comics okay (give me a good Spawn or Nextwave and I'm golden), and Averman's bag is stuffed with them. My mainstream knowledge is limited to movies and cartoons, though I often consult Wikipedia when Averman occasionally geeks out at me. I nod at the guy anyway. He continues.

"It's my understanding that every man takes on the personality of an individual member of the Justice League, or, if you're a Marvel buff, the X-Men. I always thought those teams like the JSA and the Avengers were allegories to human nature."

I watch his hands dance over the craft.

"Every man aspires to be Superman, but that takes time. Anyone with skeletons in their closet turns out like Batman, and those who suffer from too many hard times, like Red Tornado."

"And who are you?" I ask, grinning.

"Me? Well, when I was young, I was a troublemaker," He says, blowing wood shavings off his handiwork. "Still was when I grew up. Got in a lot of trouble with the law with my adventures. Screwed over a lot of women; it came around to bite me in the ass. Oh, and a lot of insecurity. No doubt about it, I was a regular Ollie Queen."

I smile. I wonder what my friends would be.

Luis would be Connor Hawke; he's really Zen. Ken would be Bart Allen, with his fancy footwork, and Goldie and Averman are totally Booster Gold and Blue Beetle. Guy and Connie are Ralph and Sue Dibny, and Julie's Stargirl (though she'd probably protest the lycra bike shorts). Charlie's the steadfast Captain Marvel, Russ is the Atom, Jesse's John Stewart, and Adam is Red Tornado. I like to say that Portman's Wildcat, but that would make Julie Power Girl, and, let's face it, she's not, um, _endowed_ enough to pull it off. Dwayne is probably Jonah Hex, if he were badass enough.

I don't know what I'd be. Probably Jimmy Olsen.

He continues. "By that theory, reaching Superman status means reaching nirvana. I wore many masks, and I wore 'em all here." He gestures to the highway. "All over the U.S. You can wear different masks. It's part of the fun."

"But I don't have to wear a mask when I'm with my friends," I say vaguely, touching my chin thoughtfully. For some reason, his words remind me of Adam.

He chuckles. "Then you're more like Superman than the rest of us."

I laugh bitterly. "Yeah, right. You'll never meet anyone less Superman-ish than me. At least Supes got to keep his Lois Lane."

He stands up now, just as tall as me, eyes level with mine. "Wouldn't you _love_ to find out?"

I look at him. He does have a point. Maybe I've been looking at this trip the wrong way. I mean, even Batman had to take a long, perilous journey to find out who he was. Or at least he did in that kickass movie.

Suddenly he rummages through the pockets of his buckskin. He takes my hand and shoves the trinket he was whittling and a card.

"Once you reach a conclusion, look me up. I'd love to hear about it."

"You do this often?" I say, smiling slightly.

He laughs. "Not usually-- only to the types who seem alright. Anyway, that's the number of my business."

He picks up his bag.

"I never did get your name," I say suddenly.

"Never got yours, either," He replies.

"Oh, sorry, I'm Fulton," I say.

"It was nice meeting you, Fulton."

"And you?"

He chuckles a little. "Bill. Call me Bill."

We shake on it, and he picks up his lawn chair and walks away, vanishing into the dust.

**Twenty Minutes Later**

I can't stop thinking about that guy, even now that I'm in the passenger seat of the Mirthmobile, the radio blasting a song. Maybe Bill was just trying to push his merchandise on some tourist. But it felt like he was really talking to me and knew where I was coming from. I look at the trinket in my hand; it's an elaborate whistle, with a totem carved at the end. I guess I'll never know. It's up to me to take his advice to heart. I mean, it's not every day you meet a wood-carving, buckskin-wearing, philosophical comic book buff. I look at the card he gave me. _Bill's Crafts and Curios_, it said. It was stationed in Athens, Georgia. Maybe on the way back we could stop there.

I look at Portman. He's being an unusually calm driver, not even reacting to the Slayer song filling the van.

"Hey, Port…" I say to him, trying to get his attention. "Port!"

I raise my voice to drown out the impromptu round of "99 Bottles of Beer On the Wall" sounding in the back. He glances at me and then glances back at the road. "What?"

"What's up?" I ask him. "Planet Portman just not accepting transmissions?"

"Ha ha."

"But seriously. You call Julie?"

"Why should I?" His knuckles whiten on the wheel. "Why can't she call me first?"

"Why can't _you_ make the first move?" I ask.

"I think you know how our last meeting went."

Ah, yes. The Portman and Julie saga. Those two are nuts about each other, and everyone can see it, but every word they say that varies from "Hello, how are you?" end up pissing the other off. That's the way it is with them: a contest. A battle of wills. Last time they "talked", Julie yelled at him for being a player. He yelled back that if she hated him so much, why doesn't she get Scooter to come and tell him off? And she yelled that Scooter totally would, but he can't do anything in intensive care.

The last person to fire the last retort had to be the one to make up, meaning it was her move now. Always with the back and forth. And I know Port would never disrupt the natural order of things.

"It's her move now," he says. "What if I call her and she's still mad?"

"Well, you bought her a gift," I point out. "You're gonna have to talk to her sooner or later if you want to give it to her."

He's silent. For the life of me, I'll never understand them.

"I'm just saying, Portman, life's too short to be playing cat and mouse like this."

"I know," he says resignedly. "If, and only if, she calls, we'll talk. But she hasn't called yet. But when she does, we _will_ talk. I guarantee that."

"Whatever." I turn to the window. I hear a beep: My cell phone needs to be charged.

"We need to stop somewhere with electricity," I announce. The boys have been suspiciously quiet all this time.

"What's going on back there?" I crane my head around the seat.

"I've been thinking," Averman proclaims.

"That can't be good," Goldie deadpans.

"No, seriously," Averman continues. He leans against my seat. 'Like, who in _Reservoir Dogs_ do you think each of us are?"

I stopped. That's a good question.

Ken speaks up after a brief pause. "You are _definitely_ Mr. Brown."

We all laugh. Averman _wishes_ he was cool like Quentin Tarantino. I lean back into my chair. _Reservoir Dogs_. What a kickass movie. I'd take that over _Ocean's Eleven _any day.

Ken suddenly pipes up "You're Joe!" pointing to me. Everyone laughs. I groan. This all stems from the time we were at a Denny's in Fayetteville, and everyone had to pitch in to pay the tip; Averman had refused, giving some bullshit reason why he didn't tip. I was getting impatient, so I yelled at him in my deep, gruff, scary voice "YOU'RE GONNA FUCKING TIP." Averman cowers, and the tip is paid.

I laugh with everyone else, but honestly, I see myself as more like Mr. White. He was still a cold-blooded killer, but at least he had _some_ scruples.

The boys were still going on. It's agreed that Goldberg is Mr. Pink, and Ken is Mr. Blue. Russ protests being the traitorous Mr. Orange: "Why do I gotta be the narc? Why can't I be Jules from _Pulp Fiction_?"

"So who are you, Portman?" Averman asks curiously.

"Mr. Blonde, no doubt," Portman replies. "Michael Madsen was a badass. Did you see him in _Kill Bill_?"

I agree. Portman's sadistic enough to be Mr. Blonde.

"Port, let's stop here and buy some supplies and stuff. I see the boys are getting a little antsy."

**July 6, 1:42 p.m.**

**Miami Beach, Florida**

_This thing, called love, I just_

_Can't handle it,_

_This thing, called love, I must_

_Get round to it,_

_I ain't ready,_

_Crazy little thing called love…_

"Heads up, Banksie!"

I move quickly and block Connie's shot. It's just me and the other ducks here at the beach. We grabbed our gear and headed down to where the ocean met the earth. The sand is blinding in the sun, and the ocean is a perfect, deep blue. This group of guys nearby is blasting out Queen songs on a boombox, reminding me of the Bash Brothers.

I sail the puck back to Jesse, who flashes me a grateful, friendly smile. He has a nice smile, that's what makes it so hard to get mad at him (or, unfortunately, take him seriously). Guy, Connie, Jesse, Charlie, Dwayne, Luis and I are playing a nice, noncompetitive game of street hockey, and it almost, kinda, sorta, feels normal.

Charlie rips off his helmet, sweat pouring from his face.

"Time out, guys!" He yells, plopping down on the sand. Jesse does the same.

"Having fun, Adam?" He calls to me, grinning.

"Oh, I don't know…" I say, skating next to him. "The sun's hurting my eyes, and the fresh air burns my lungs, and I think I'm allergic to UV rays…"

We laugh.

"Man, I'm so glad to finally be here!" Connie says happily, Guy loops an arm around her. "I can't help but plan what we're gonna do here. Play on the beach--"

"Go see a Marlins game," Guy chimes in.

"Skate through the sights--"

"Go to Busch Gardens--"

"Oooh, or Disney World!"

Charlie stands up and makes an effort to make eye contact with all of us.

"Keep training on the off-season so we're fresh for the school year," He says, a reproving, motherly look on his face that he probably copied from Casey Conway herself.

"Ease up, Spazway," Jesse says, throwing sand at him. "It's vacation, chill out."

I think I was the only one who noticed that pained twinge on Jesse's face when he said that. I remember with a jolt that Jesse was currently enrolled in a public school with his brother, Terry. It's weird, Jesse's read so much in me, and I guess I'm just spending so much time trying to read him. You know, in return.

"He's right, Charlie," I say, sticking up for him. "Remember why we came here in the first place."

And I realized suddenly that I was remembering too.

Luis pipes in. "Come on, guys! There's a Dave & Buster's just down this way."

In a flash, the seven of us take off, taking the form of that famous flying v.

_Crazy little thing called love…_

**July 6, 5:42 p.m.**

**Miami Beach, Florida**

"_Donde estas, _Luis?"

I hear my mother call me.

"_Estoy aqui, mama'!"_ I shout back down to her.

After a fulfilling day, the Ducks are helping clean up for dinner. After dinner, we're going to my cousin Marco's house for a shindig. I was just tidying up the room Charlie, Dwayne, and I share. My eyes linger on the pennants pinned up there, and my Ducks jersey. I feel a song coming on.

_Memories, all alone in the moonlight,_

_I can smile at the old days,_

_I was beautiful then_

_I remember the time I know what happiness was,_

_Let the memory live again…_

Damn _Cats._

I haven't heard from the Bash Brothers and the carpool gang in ages. I fear the worst.

"LUIS!"

Sigh. Time to take out the trash.

Outside by the trashcans, I hear a girl's voice through the fence. My feeling of excitement at the recognition of the voice slowly turns to horror: Alicia. I've known Alicia Nguyen since practically the crib. I remember she was an Amazon of a toddler, almost a head taller than me. Alicia, my friend Carlos and I were the best athletes in my neighborhood, but I was the one who was spotted by scouts. Knowing Alicia, I bet she's pretty pissed. And when she's pissed, she's known to flatten people.

I tiptoe slowly so she doesn't notice, but sure enough…

"Oi, Luis!" She shouts at me, her head floating above the fence.

I smile weakly. "Hello, Alicia."

The current Alicia Nguyen is a behemoth at 5'11", and took to basketball the way I took to hockey. Don't know why, though. Her arm is about as big as my thigh. She'd make a great enforcer.

She's smiling now, looking actually happy to see me. Then, her face morphs into a frown and she throws a gardening glove at me.

"You tell that cowboy friend of yours he's gonna have to pay for what he did to my gardenias," she holds up a shattered flowerpot. "You know about my one girly weakness."

She smiles again, her wide mouth splitting her brown face. "My brother still asks about you."

"Which one?" I ask. Alicia has a ton of brothers.

"Donnell," She says simply. "It'll break his little heart if you don't play with him."

"Alright," I say, grinning. Alicia's brothers are pretty cool.

"City's quiet without you," she says quietly, rustling, whatever she was working on behind the fence. "How's Minnesota treating you?"

"Pretty good."

"Different over there, isn't it? I'd never survive. Visited Afton in Illinois once. I thought I'd go crazy."

I laugh a little. "I was going crazy, too, at first. But I adjusted."

She looks thoughtful. "I thought you would. You can adjust to anything."

She pauses. "Remember when we were kids? And our coach bowed out and we combined with that team from Tallahassee for the championships?"

I smile at the memory. Alicia _hated_ it. We were in a strange city with these weird new kids and a coach who didn't have the boundless patience it takes to deal with my speed problems, Alicia's bullying, and Carlos's puck-hogging.

"Yeah, I remember. Why?"

"Well," she says, biting her thumbnail, "I remember you thought it was such an _adventure_. I was gonna slap you for being so Pollyanna. But you were totally okay. That's why I didn't worry for your well-being when you ditched us for L.A. And maybe that's why the scouts chose you instead of any of us."

I'm silent. This is probably the most sincere I've ever heard her.

"So, how you doing?" I ask to lighten the mood, slinging the garbage over my shoulder.

"Oh, you know, a new batch of scouts popping up. Working on my scholarship."

"How's your lady?" I ask.

"My lady's doing fine," She says, grinning. My ex-neighbor Carly is Alicia's girlfriend. That makes them the only two girls I haven't hit on because, c'mon, give me more credit than that, I wouldn't hit on a gay girl. I was in the G.S.A. at my school here in Florida, so when Alicia came out when we were thirteen, it didn't bother me.

"I told her about you trying to recruit me for hockey. She thinks it's barbaric." She looks at me intently. "So how's _your_ lady?"

"Don't have one, at the moment."

She claps her hands to her face in fake shock.

"The original Don Juan, girl-less? Watch it, man, you're slipping. Your pheromones on the fritz?"

"Ha ha," I say sourly. I probably wore out all my luck with Mindy. Now that she's graduated, I'm all alone in the pool of love. Will no one float toward me on an inflatable raft?

"You do have that one chick to keep you company. You know, that brunette one? I thought she was with you."

"She's with my friend Guy."

"Isn't she from the Goodwill Games? Where's that blonde chick? Jessica, or something. She's pretty hot. Is she straight?"

"You mean Julie? She's in Orlando right now. And I can't be sure about her sexual orientation, though I'm pretty sure she's laying something on our defenseman Dean Portman."

"Oh. Well, I'm just sayin', I mean, since she's a goalie…"

"Don't. Ken used to be a figure skater, and he's bagged more girls last year than me."

"Lucky kid. Though I imagine that's probably not hard to do. I probably bagged more girls last year than you too."

"Ha ha, what a freaking knee-slapper."

I sigh and watch the sun go down. Then, I hear her speak.

"You going to Marco's tonight?" She asks.

"Yeah."

She makes her way back to her house before she calls back to me.

"Everyone thinks you've changed, _patito_. Tonight I'm telling Marco and the boys that they were wrong. Good to have you back."

**July 6, 10:25 p.m.**

**St. Augustine, Florida**

"Come on, Fult. It'll be so badass."

"No way."

"We'll be badass. Like the Deadly Vipers. Or like _Reservoir Dogs_!"

"But they kill people."

"Well, yeah, but not so dramastic."

"Averman…"

There's no talking to my grammatically challenged friend. We're at a Big 'N' Tall here in St Augustine. After reliving dialogue from various Tarantino movies (Ken nearly pissed his pants laughing at Goldberg's interpretation of Samuel L. Jackson's "ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER, DO YOU SPEAK IT?!" scene from _Pulp Fiction_), Averman's pretty hyped up. He's currently salivating over this row of black suits, half-off. They boys have been deliberating in the back seat something that has not yet been shared with me.

"Trust me, Fult. I've got a plan to make the night more interesting. Let's pool in our money."

"Pool in your own fuckin' money," I say gruffly, sounding much more Joe-like.

"Aww, c'mon, _ppplllleeeeeeeaase…."_

"Stop wheedling. What's this illustrious plan you have in mind?"

He raises his eyebrows conspiratorially, and beckons me closer.

No way. He can't be serious.

It's just brilliant (or crazy) enough to work.

**Fifteen Minutes and Six Rented Suits Later**

I check the time. 10:45 p.m. We're in for the kill. No one will notice the mysterious white van idling outside an Embassy Suites hotel.

"Yo, Mr. Pink," Russ calls to Goldberg, now sporting a Jheri curl wig. "Ready?"

He gives him a thumbs-up.

Mr. Blonde (Portman) inches the van forward, waiting for my signal. I peer through my window, waiting for the guard to change. He's a fat guy, twirling his baton. My mom used to work at an Embassy Suites. He should leave any minute now. Messrs. Blue and Brown (Ken and Averman) are at their positions, as evidenced by the chirping of my cell phone.

I watch the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Aaannd…

There we go!

The guard turns to the door, about to leave, not noticing two black-suited operatives ambushing. The tires squeal as Portman guns us towards phase two.

"Go, go, GO!" I bellow, shoving my shades onto my face and slinging my bag of "materials" over my shoulder. I watch in horror as Mr. Brown crosses the parking lot and tosses his extra-strength Wayne Enterprises© grabber claw (a coke bottle attached to a jumper cable-- I advised against it, but Portman insists he has extras), and catches the door before it closes.

"BLACK HAWK DOWN!" Mr. Orange screams as the three of us barrel out the doors like the motherfucking A-Team or the Justice League or something with Mr. Blonde never pausing. Once he's sure we've safely exited the vehicle, he rushes off to park so that we may embark on phase three.

Messrs. Brown, Blue, Pink, Orange, and White (that's me) blaze through. The target has been infiltrated. A layman may argue that it might've been better (and safer) to walk through the front door.

Laypeople are amateurs.

"Flatten," I command the rest, and we all flatten against the wall, stealthily. I look around. All we have to do is meet with Mr. Blonde in the lobby for phase four, provided Portman follows through with phase three (chat up the concierge and distract the suits). The five of us cut a large swathe through the lobby amidst whispers:

"What're they supposed to be, the Young Republicans?"

"Dude, it's the feds! You sure this ain't the Watergate?"

"Oh shit, it's the Men in Black. Good thing, too, aliens are a damn near infestation in these parts…"

"The time has come, my friend. We attack at dawn, and then we run 'til the wind can't find us…"

We catch Portman's eye, he grins. The chick behind the desk is a blonde with an unfortunate complexion, who seems damn near orgasmic at the prospect of being asked out by Portman.

We hasten quickly in our rehearsed attacking formation through the lobby to this parlor room, garnering dirty looks from the pudgy tourists also en route to Florida. We wait patiently for the signal.

My cell phone vibrates.

"Talk to me, Blonde," I say authoritatively.

"Okay, apparently, the biggest room they have here is the presidential suite," He says, triumphantly. _Pay dirt_, I thought.

"Bad news is, it's currently occupied boy some rich cat food chain magnate, apparently this chick is a real piece of work, snappy, and has a strong love of cats. She has cat food stores all over Georgia and Florida, you may have heard of it: Empress Priscilla's Emporium of Feline Delicacies. That's the chick's name: Priscilla Proud."

I curse under my breath.

"But the _good _news is…" Port can't keep the smile out of his voice. "She's got her family there, but _she_ never is; Samantha-- that's my intel's name-- surmises that she's doing the nasty with one of her subordinates."

A pause to allow for our collective retching.

"I know, right? Anyway, her family's with her, which includes her two twenty year old sons, and her hot younger daughter named Angela."

Everyone who was listening eagerly was now salivating at the thought.

"Apparently, this girl's won a buttload of local pageants but has a tendency to misbehave," I could practically see Port's huge, toothy grin. I mentally pity the poor counter girl and hope Portman is out of earshot of her.

"So what you're saying is…" I say slowly.

"Hit up the daughter, invite some of her friends, and we'll have a free place for the night," he finishes. "We'll be in Orlando by tomorrow, and we'll have enough money saved to book a cheap room in a motel for a couple of weeks."

"So how do we coordinate this infiltration?" I ask.

"Well, we'll need someone to accidentally-on-purpose cross paths with the girl, and he'll need a few guys on him. Ready? Assume formation!"

"Go Team Venture!" Averman and Goldberg cry.

**Five Minutes Later**

Ken is stationed in front of the elevators, trying his best to look imposing. No one seems to want to go near him. Perfect. Russ and I are chaperoning Portman to the suites, covering him all the while. Averman and Goldberg took the stairs (We couldn't all be together, It would look suspicious) and were planning to meet us up there.

My phone vibrates. "We're in," Aves crows triumphantly. They must be on the top floor.

"Good, but clear out before it gets too obvious," I command. "Is it clear?"

"Yeah, there's nobody here."

"Well, hightail it out of there before a janitor or, god forbid, a bodyguard shows up. We'll need you for backup, okay?"

"Okay, Mr. White."

"Good work, Mr. Brown."

When I hang up, the door dings. We're here. When I step into the hallway, I see a disturbance at the end. Averman and Goldberg stationed right where they need to be. Port waits silently with his foot in the elevator door as we head for the suite's door.

Suddenly Russ grabs my arm. "Shit!"

I turn around; the door dings signaling Portman's retreat into the elevator.

"Hey!" A tall, sleek black-suited bodyguard appears at the opposite end of the hallway.

_Shit,_ I think._ What am I gonna do?_

"What are you doing here?" I say suddenly in a deep voice I didn't think I had in me. Russ continues to clutch onto me in fear; I shove him off.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," the man declares coolly, running a huge hand over his shaved bald head. "I thought your shift was over, Wilkes. They reassign you?"

Huh? I wrack my brains. This guy thinks I work here!

"Where's your piece?" He says, gesturing to me.

"Uhhh…" I look at Russ, who's looking expectantly at me. He's wearing a Bluetooth earpiece similar to the one the suit is wearing.

"Uh, he took it," I snatch it off his ear and put it on mine.

The guy chuckles. "I didn't mean that piece," he says, opening his jacket. Russ stiffens next to me.

The guy pulls out a shiny semiautomatic pistol, couldn't tell what caliber it was from here. I gulped.

"I, uh, took it to get cleaned. You know, I take Jiu-Jitsu now, so I didn't feel it was necessary…"

The guy lets out a belly laugh. He holds his gun up to the light. "Yeah, it's a beauty. A .45 caliber Smith & Wesson, you know? You know how Madame was bitching about the security. Won't have much to complain about with this under her nose, huh?"

I nod, feeling unsettled. And nauseous.

He continues to inspect his weapon. "Bought this off the Chinese black market which is more than these scrub rent-a-cops downstairs could say. Whatever, this is better than my last gig. Still, no one in the higher-ups care if you loose a bullet into an inmate, y'know?" He laughs.

He's nuts. He's utterly psychotic.

I take a step back. This guy is unstable and potentially homicidal.

"You-- You worked--"

"At the state penitentiary, yeah. Good training for this line of work, but my subordinates kept giving me lip. Wasn't cut out for me."

"Uh, yeah, I could see that."

The guy checks his watch.

"Well, if it's your shift, then I'm just gonna head out. Wanna grab a slice later with the guys?"

"Uhhh…"

Who were the guys? Escaped felons?

"Nah, that's okay. I need the overtime."

"For the wife and kids, huh?" The guy chuckles. "What I tell ya, man? Take control of the population, wear a glove?" He laughs, chucks me on the shoulder, and takes the left elevator.

I let out the breath I was subconsciously holding.

"Jesus Christ," Russ says, relaxing, "Where the hell did this lady get her security from, a line-up?"

I laugh a little to break the mood.

I quickly dial Portman, and he emerges from the right elevator he had been hiding in.

"Who the hell was that?"

"Never mind that, I'll tell you later. Onto the operation…"

After a few minutes of waiting, we get an excited call from Ken.

"Here comes our girl, and she's got friends with her!"

Oh, _joy_.

During this time, Portman scrambled out of his suit and was now wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his skull bandana in place. The doors open; out come a group of girls, laughing and talking. I peg the one in the middle as Angela, as her clothes and general upkeep were on the classy side. It doesn't take long for their eyes to fall on Portman.

"Who the hell are you?" Angela demands, though her eyes flick up and down Portman's bod appraisingly. And you thought guys were such dogs.

"Good evening ladies," he says good-naturedly. He looks around the hallway. "Nice place, but I bet the inside is even nicer."

Her friends giggle, she says coolly "As if I'd let you into my mom's suite."

"Oh?" he questions. "Not kind enough to show this out-of-towner some graciousness? What about that good southern hospitality I heard so much about?"

"We're in northern Florida," she says, smiling despite herself. "We're not exactly in the country."

"Ah, well. That's too bad. Me and My friends needed a place to crash, and we pegged you as a conscientious host…"

"Your…friends?" She says, her eyebrow quirking, showing her interest. Her eyes basically said, _There are more of you?_

"Yeah," he says, gesturing to Russ and me.

"Your friends are bodyguards?" she says, disbelievingly.

"Psht, not bodyguards," Portman says, "Secret agents. Top operatives in espionage. Although, to tell the truth--" he lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "They only go all out like this for parties."

She laughs; Russ and I share a smile.

"So, you got any other friends? Is that guy downstairs your friend? Because he was totally checking me out."

"Yeah," Portman agrees. "He's one of us."

He calls down the hallway. "Aves! Goldberg! Come on out, it's cool."

They emerge from their hiding place, grinning sheepishly. A hush comes over the girls, and Angela says, "So, you only dress up for parties, huh? Well, I know this wild place that's perfect for you…"

**Thirty Minutes Later**

You know that Greek myth about those beautiful girls whose voices entice clueless guys to their doom?

Yeah, that's what these chicks remind me of.

However, if you gotta go, this is the way to go.

Music is blaring and the girls are screaming with laughter at ken and Portman, who are now performing a striptease to Prince's "If I Was Your Girlfriend". Would it surprise you to know that Portman picked that out?

Once the song ends, Portman calls out: "Strip Twister!"

Honestly, the boy can't keep his clothes on.

As he rolls out the twister mat, I fiddle with his cell phone as mine was charging. Hmmm… wait a minute, one new voice mail message from…Julie?

Curiously, I hold the phone up to my ear and listen.

_Hey, Dean, it's me. Julie, I mean. Just calling to see if you're okay. Not that I'm worried or anything. Just making sure Averman hasn't killed you, or vice versa. And, um, I also called to talk. Later, I mean. I just thought you and I should talk. You know, like we used to…_

I listen to the message in its entirety, and check the date. I'm completely furious. Portman had lied when he said Julie had made no effort to try to make up!

"Yo, Portman!" I holler at the top of my lungs. It startles him, and he loses his balance, much to the delight of the girls. He quickly sheds his shirt as he heads towards me.

"What's up, bro?"

I shove the phone in his face. He stares at it uncomprehendingly until finally, he gets it.

"Call. Her." I command. Julie's my friend too, and the two of them need to fix their shit now.

Chastened, Portman takes the phone and I'm satisfied to hear a sheepish "Hey, Julie…"

All the girls are occupied by one thing or another (Russ and two other siren girls are playing spin-the-bottle in a corner), except for one, who's making eyes at me. And, honestly, I was looking at her too.

Maybe I'm just a little hazy from the Hypnotiq we liberated from the mini-fridge (apparently Priscilla Proud is a hardcore alkie), but this girl seems like a goddess, too beautiful to be believed. She's short but well proportioned, with nice legs, a round but, and, I'm not gonna lie, big boobs. Hey, don't fault me for being a sex maniac. But my defenses were going down as she sidled next to me. The song changes on the stereo to a familiar beat.

"You look lonely," she purrs, her face is cute and heart-shaped, and her skin is a rich caramel color.

"Not anymore," I say semi-smoothly.

"Is your name really Mr. White?" she says, giggling a little bit.

"Maybe," I whisper to her. "What's yours?"

She grins widely. "Nikki. Like the song."

_Nikki. Darling Nikki._

I couldn't stop myself as the dirty lyrics to Prince's most infamous song came to my head.

"_I knew a girl named Nikki,_

_I guess you could say she was a sex fiend…"_

She giggles, and we dance to the song now blaring on the stereo. I sing just as casually and matter-of-factly as Prince.

"_I met her in a hotel lobby_

_Masturbating with a magazine…"_

As we danced, the partially clothed forms of Portman and Ken were grinding to the song. Remind me to bleach my eyes later.

Nikki takes my face into her hands and pulls me close. She whispers something in my ear, and I grin goofily at her suggestion. My. This'll be a fun night.

_She said, how'd you like to waste some time_

_And I could not resist when I saw little Nikki grind…_

After she kisses me, through my hazy eyes I take note of the fact that we were traveling, through many doors and many rooms. I felt a little like Alice in Wonderland, and Nikki was my sexed-up white rabbit. I watch groggily as Nikki grins and slides the strap of her dress off her shoulder. I grin as she kisses my chin.

_She took me to her castle,_

_And I just couldn't believe my eyes_

I watch nonplussed as Nikki produces a hand-rolled cigarette out of her pocket. Let's see a rabbit pull that out of a hat.

_She had so many vices_

_Everything that money could buy_

I hum along to the song as Nikki lights up the joint. Time is going back and forth; have I already smoked it, or was I still singing along to Slayer in the van? Or maybe I was still standing next to Bill, staring into the interstate; or maybe I was in the womb, or maybe I was graduating from high school. It's a possibility it's all happening at the same time.

_She said sign your name on the dotted line_

I let a giggle escape as she passes it to me. I blow out the smoke as she kisses me fiercely, pushing me onto the plush loveseat at the same time. Oh my.

_The lights went out,_

_And Nikki started to grind…_

Thanks, Nikki, for a funky time.


	6. Shoot Down the Stars

Road to Florida

**Road to Florida**

**Chapter 6**

**A/N:** Hey guys! Sorry this was _sooooo_ late, I had a wicked case of writer's block! Also, summer is _crazy_, guys, it's _crazy!_ So, to be clear, this chapter is actually part 2 of the last chapter, basically chapter 5.5. The actual chapter 6 comes next, but for the sake of proper numbering, this is chapter 6. Anway, enjoy my craptastic new effort!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Mighty Ducks, Gym Class Heroes, or the Lion King. Pshyeah.

**Chapter 6: Shoot Down the Stars**

**July 6, 9:45 p.m.**

**Miami Beach, Florida**

"Who's ready for a sexy party?"

All the girls giggle appreciatively. The guys glare in faux-disapproval.

"Why, Luis, I'm surprised you had the balls to pull that at an all-couples party," I say, smoothly despite the liquor in my system.

"This girl's amazing," Guy crows, wrapping his arm around me. "She's, like, something else, man. She's the Mary Jane to my Spider-Man. She's the She-Ra to my He-Man. She's the Buffy to my Angel. She's the…"

"She's the cheese to your macaroni, we get it," Luis's friend Alicia says savagely. Titters around the room.

Alicia yanks the arm of a petite, dark-skinned girl from the sidelines. "This is my Carly, and she's the Poison Ivy to my Harley Quinn."

Luis laughs, Carly rolls her eyes and plants a kiss on Alicia's waiting cheek. We've gotten to know Luis's other hockey friends here, including Carlos, the shy brainy center on Luis's childhood team, and Alicia Nguyen, the big, brawny, defense(wo)man with questionable sexual proclivities. I get the feeling she's hooked up with most of the people in this room, guys and girls alike. Still, she's airy and affable, with a sharp tongue and swift temper.

Anyway, we're at Luis's friend Pablo's house at one of the most decadent soirees I've ever seen; and trust me, I've been to a lot of Eden Hall parties, most of whom I'm still trying to recover memories from.

Loud, bass-heavy music is thudding from the room next to us, but it's like we're moving underwater in here. It's like the Mad tea party in a way. We've met so many of Luis's local friends, and some he wishes he could forget: like Rosa, Angel, Samantha, Grace, Tabby, Yolanda, Marie, and Jessica. It was quite hilarious to watch Luis try to sidle out of the room when his ex-girlfriends tried to corner him.

There were also a few blips from his past: like Matt and his stoner friends. Those are the kind of kids who slink around corners with their buddies and try to jack the vending machines. However, Luis couldn't account for him. Everyone else seemed nice, though; seems like Luis had a long and storied history here in his native state.

Matt lifts his head and looks out from under his abnormally long eyelashes. "What do girls talk about?" he croaks out. Everyone looks at him.

He shrugs. "Just wanted to know. Every time I ask a girl that, she never gives me a straight answer. You guys are always huddled together, and hiding out in the girl's bathroom. What the hell is so important that you've got to hide it from people?"

A silence falls over the room.

"Well…" I begin.

"Every girl's different," Carly continues.

"And the hiding is a defense mechanism, really," Alicia adds on.

"But the majority is basically one thing," Yolanda pipes in. We share a look and smile.

"Sex," we say in unison. I fall back into my comfy, silent giggles escaping my lips.

Another pause, before Matt says, "Seriously? That's it?"

"That's it," Alicia chuckles. "Once you get past a certain age, all a girl talks about with her girlfriends is sex."

"And what's that certain age?" Luis asks, suddenly interested in the conversation.

"Thirteen," I say simply. Both Guy and Luis give me a look of open-mouth shock.

"You…seriously?"

"Yep."

"So…so when we were kids…"

"At the Goodwill Games…"

"When you and Julie would lock yourselves into your room…"

"_That's_ what you would talk about?"

"Exactly," I say matter-of-factly. Actually, that's a bit of a lie; we mostly told ghost stories and listened to music. She told me about her family and her dad, and I told her about the divorce. She turned me onto the Rolling Stones and I introduced her to No Doubt. Messing with the boys' heads just seemed entertaining at the moment.

"You think maybe you could tell me the specifics?" Matt asks Alicia, staring at her intently.

"Not in your wettest dreams," she says stoutly. We all giggle.

After a few ill-fated party games, things were slowing down considerably. Luis had taken up a girl (NOT from his past) and was swaying with her to the music. Alicia, Carly, and Pablo were fiddling with the soundsystem. Someone needs to tell them that teenagers don't listen to Wham! nowadays. I feel a familiar hand in mine.

"C'mon," Guy breathes in my ear, beer on his breath and lust in his smile. I really must be tipsy because that only encouraged me.

We make our way past many party-goers in various states of undress, and Guy automatically leads me to the only room he knew would be empty:

Marco's little sister's room.

I throw a side-along glance at Guy; he's rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed. Marco's sister is at a sleepover, and nobody in their right mind would hook up in a room adorned with Strawberry Shortcake and Barney.

"Well, Guy, I'm surprised at you," I say teasingly, wrapping an arm around him. "Does Barney turn you on? Sorry, my purple suit's at the cleaners."

"Shush," Guy mumbles into my neck. "If it distracts you, just think it's for, you know, _our_ kids."

Aw.

"We'd be hot parents," I giggle. "getting it on in the kid's room while he's at daycare…"

"That's seven leagues of fucked up," he chuckles. Suddenly he kisses me, full on on the mouth. Kissing Guy is like eating chocolate, in a way. Does that even make sense? Damn, I must be drunker than I thought.

I giggle internally, I moan aloud as Guy nibbles my lip. I love when he does the sexy tongue move, he flicks it between my lips like a snake. Whoa.

I try to turn my brain off and just enjoy kissing him. Curling his hair around my finger. Feeling his chest pressed against mine. Feeling his fingers creep…

Creep….

Wait….

What is he…

WHAT does he think he is DOING?!

_Where _is he putting his hand?

I feel my face flush; so enflamed I'm scared Guy will feel it against his cheek. He's making awkward grunting sounds, but it doesn't sound like anything's amiss. Well, other than the fact…other than the fact that his hand is…well. His hand is in places that were until now unknown, and I didn't know whether to anticipate his touch, or…or…

Guy must have noticed I had temporarily gone catatonic. He turns his head to look at me.

"Are you comfortable?" he whispers huskily.

I don't answer. I think I may be in shock. Guy is many things: sweet, funny, easy on the eyes, and dependable. A ladies man, he is not. I mean, why else would he be with the same girl he's dated since elementary?

"I…I, uh…" I stammer. My mind doesn't seem to want to make words, so I took his arm and extracted it from it's current…position.

"Get…off…"

His arm snaps back, like he just got bitten by a rattlesnake.

"Sorry," he says quickly. He rolls off me.

"Why…?"

"I…just…I dunno. I thought…"

"Yeah?"

"Uh…"

He trails off; we're both looking at different corners of the room.

The only thing breaking the silence is the sound of Luis arguing with Carlos over the music; the smoldering acid-rock song that was playing fades out and a hip-hop-tinged R&B song comes on.

My mouth falls open at the song choice; my blush deepens.

"_Touch my body, put me on the floor,_

_Wrestle me around, play with me some more,_

_Touch my body, throw me on the bed,_

_I just want to make you feel like you never did..."_

I start giggling, awkwardly. I take Guy's hand (the one that was not on my person) and smile at him forgivingly. He nods and we head for the door, our faces glowing.

**July 6, 10:02 p.m.**

**Miami Beach, Florida**

"Look at those stars."

I look at him, and he smiles contently back at me. Jesse and I were up on the roof and admiring the Florida atmosphere. It's amazingly chill here; the humid air feels good on my skin, and many scents are mingled together in the air: ocean water, the exotic flowers, fresh, spicy sausages cooking downstairs. Maybe it's just the heady smoke cloud permeating from the stoner huddle, but I'm feeling surprisingly mellow now.

"Mmm."

"Hey, Adam?"

"Yeah?"

"You know what this reminds me of?"

I think for a second.

"Disneyland," I say automatically, even though I can't even remember Disneyland. I went when I was a little kid. I guess I meant this feeling bubbling up inside me felt like a distant memory.

"Nah," he says, stretching his arms over his head. We are perched on lawn chairs pilfered from the neighbors.

"This is something really good, like when you're a little kid. Like when you're a little kid. Like you still believed everything you saw. Like…"

"The Lion King," I blurt out. I had been looking at a cluster of clouds and imagining a lion's head bursting out.

He bursts out laughing. He gestures over the vast expanse of houses and says in a deep, rumbling voice, _"EVERYTHING THE LIGHT TOUCHES IS OUR KINGDOM!"_

I chuckle and join in. _"WE ARE ALL CONNECTED IN THE GREAT CIRCLE OF LIFE."_

"_The ciiiircle of liiiiife…."_

"_It mooooves us aaaaallll--"_

"BEHOLD, KUNTA KINTE, THE ONLY THING GREATER THAN YOURSELF!"

"Wrong movie."

"Shit, sorry. Had a _Roots_ flashback."

I continue to giggle. He sighs next to me.

"Sorry, but that's not it."

Suddenly, the music downstairs blasts on again. Once the new song registers with Jesse, his eye light up. The song wafts into my ears.

"_So take a step back,_

_And a breath in,_

_Let it out now,_

_Put your chin up,_

_You can do it, tiger,_

_You a man now,_

_And in your dream it's time to do the best you can now…"_

He begins to sing along…

"_We'll shake up this town,_

_And shoot down the stars for our enjoyment,_

_So sexy we are,_

_So sexy we are, we just don't know it…"_

"This song," he says, grinning widely. "This is what it is."

I look at him, and wish I knew the word to describe him as. I wish I was like him and could pick a song to match him, but I couldn't. I just let the night wash over me.

**July 6, 10:52 p.m.**

**Kissimmee, Florida**

"_War, children,_

_It's just a shot a way! It's just a shot away!"_

A crease forms on my forehead as I glare at the face before me, and I'm incensed to find that the face before me is giggling impishly at me.

After calling a temporary truce with my rowdy cousins, we were currently participating in a dance-off to "Gimme Shelter", which was playing on the Hi-Fi. Lars is watching me finally cut loose, there's a look of mingled fear and hilarity on his face. I glare at him too for good measure. The kids' mom is looking upon me with motherly pride; I heard her say I was "wonderful with kids". Yeah right.

I'm currently dancing out my many frustrations. I got a call from Portman that left me reeling; when he called it sounded like he was across an ocean or something. He was shouting at me over the terrible reception, shouting garbled nonsense about the Goodwill Games, and Averman, and his sixth grade math teacher. I asked him to slow down and cut the gibberish; there was loud music playing in the background, like they were having a party. Why the hell would they be having a party in the van?

Then the call dropped, and I haven't been able to reach him since. I'm stomping on the cheap rug like it's his kidneys and throwing my hair back like a wild woman. I'm putting the kids to shame.

I hear a dismissive little cough in the corner: I was all prepared to roll my eyes at my cousin Sarah when, to my horror, I realize that she's accompanied by none other than Jake From-The-Woods. He has an ugly little smirk on his face, and Sarah is clutching his arm possessively. Guess we know whom he belongs to now.

"Didn't know your cousin ran a day camp," he says in a carrying voice. Sarah flashes her crocodile smile.

I decide to fuck with him for a while.

""Day care providers don't come much hotter than this," I say pseudo-seductively, shaking my ass to Mick Jagger's wail. This guy thinks he can get what he want? Think again. "You didn't mind when you were cupping my ass in the woods a coupe nights ago," I whisper, looking at him but talking to Sarah to incense her.

"Careful, Sarah-Boo," I say, looking at her full in the eye now. Her hazel eyes flashed dangerously. "You don't know where his hands have been. Hope you like hand-me-downs."

I turn to rejoin my crazy dance party when Jake calls me back.

"Hey," he says, his lip curling. Either he appreciated my bitchery, or he was a horny fool. I like to think the latter. "I like the Stones. You wanna dance for a bit?"

"Nah," I say, smiling at the simpleton good-naturedly. "I've already got a partner."

I sling one of the little ones (Tommy, I think his name was) over my hip and we boogie.

"_I tell you, love, sister,_

_It's just a kiss away, it's just a kiss away…"_

When the kids were finally tucked into bed, I took to my room, songs still dancing in my head. I hear Sarah bidding Jake goodbye and make her way to her room. I decide to pay her a visit.

"What's buzzin', cousin?"

Silence.

I flounce onto the end of the bed where she lay facedown.

"Y'know, you can smother yourself that way."

More silence.

"…What do you even see in that guy?"

She finally stirs to look at me. For the first time since I got here, there was no ill will in her eyes, just abject tiredness.

"You got me there."

"I mean, he's such a skeeze. You saw what happened in the woods. Also, I kinda already have a boyfriend. Kinda."

She sits up to look at me.

"Yes, I know he's a skeeze, he's been a skeeze since we were kids, but I always go back to him, that's the way of the universe. Like Betty and Veronica and Archie. I'm just mad he went after my _quote _hot cousin _unquote_. But, whatever. There's a shortage of quality guys here. And how can you 'kinda' have a boyfriend?"

"It's a long story."

"Well, keep it to yourself, because I don't wanna hear it."

Here's the bitch we know and love. "I think you might want to hear it. Because said quasi-boyfriend is headed down here with a whole _van_ of quality guys."

She smirks. "Really? Call me intrigued."

I root around the side of her bed, remote in hand. "How about we tell this tale over--" I look at the DVD in hand, "_His Girl Friday_ and some Kool-Aid?"

"Don't bother," she says sharply. I look at her in surprise. Her smirk returns. "I know where Mom keeps her peach schnapps recipe."

Groovy.


End file.
